


The Heart's Almanac

by TakeThePieNow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Cas, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Descriptions of Throwing up, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated by thedogsled, Jack is treated like a kid in this, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Shipper!Jack, Shipper!Sam, Sick Fic, This is Jack friendly fic, angel habits, art included, dad!Cas, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 52,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeThePieNow/pseuds/TakeThePieNow
Summary: The portal to the other universe closes with Lucifer trapped on the other side, Castiel dead, and Jack born. In true fashion, Castiel does return, a little more broken the originally, but still good. Castiel begins doing things that he never pictured himself doing, like raising the offspring of Satan. Even Dean is trying to cut the bullshit and horrid Winchester habits out of his family’s life (lying, deceit, miscommunication). He tries his hand at “open communication” and “honesty”, and every once in a while puts effort into “talking about his feelings”. Cas only wishes it wasn’t his secrets that may jeopardize their almost happy ending. However, he’s not the only one keeping them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Dean/Cas Big Bang, and although I was nervous, it was still super fun and I loved it. I had a great beta, andimeantittosting, who really helped me out and was so kind. I also had a great artist thedogsled. Thank you!

 

“We got Cas,” Dean says in a huff, like he can’t believe it.

“Oh?” Jack responds, because that’s the only word his brain can tell his mouth to say after hearing that.

Jack clutches the phone in one hand while the other grasps at the sheet on his bed. He still has it pressed against his ear minutes after the call with Dean, who apparently didn’t need to elaborate, ends. He finds it hard to breathe, something he didn’t think was so vital to him until he finally breathes in. He suddenly becomes all too aware of his surroundings. Jack knows that in three steps from the end of his bed, he could be out the door and into the bunker hallway. In thirty-six seconds he could be at the bottom of the staircase that leads to the door that opens out to the world.

And then that’s where he finds himself standing, right at the bottom of the stairs, phone still next to his ear. He can’t take his eyes off the door. Any minute now, Dean and Sam will walk through that door with Castiel in tow. Or will his father come in first, with the Winchesters behind him? Will he rush to hug him? Or will Jack run up to meet him? He doesn’t know what he will say. What do you say to the man who you think of as a father, even though your main form of interaction was from your mother’s womb?

He’ll apologize firstly for inadvertently getting Castiel killed. Castiel will forgive him, he’s sure. Jack has never formally met Castiel, but he knows him. He could feel the angel’s grace, though weak, before he was born. Castiel protected his mother and him. He died believing Jack could save the world. It feels right to place so much trust and love into someone that did the same to him. That’s naive of him, he’s aware. Sam willingly tells tales of Castiel with a fond smile on his face. Dean doesn’t talk about Castiel with Jack; he refuses. Jack thinks it’s because it hurts.

And Castiel’s death had hurt him too, maybe not in the way it did for the brothers, and maybe not at the time, but it caught up to him eventually. He’d snuck a look into his father’s room, while the Winchesters slept. It was bare, besides a few things scattered around the room. There were books stacked on his desk, but the drawers were empty. The closet had few clothes and the dresser was void of any. However, in the side table next to his bed, was a small stack of photos. In one photo, he recognized Castiel and the Winchesters, but the the other people were strangers to him. Another had young Asian man slumped forward on a table fast asleep. Next was a redhead in headphones throwing a peace sign over her shoulder. Last was a picture of Sam and Dean leaning against the Impala.

He would occasionally return to the room. Sometimes deliberately, but sometimes he would wake up there after falling asleep in his own room.

He’d gone to Sam, seeking a picture of Castiel that he could have.

Sam had frowned, initially. Jack wondered if maybe his request was too much, too soon. However, Sam had given him a small smile and nodded. He’d said he would find him something.  

And he did. It didn’t have the slightly dulled color and worn look like the other photos, so it must have been new. It was a shot of Sam and Castiel next to the Impala. Sam’s back was facing the camera as he stood in front of the passenger door. Castiel was on the driver’s side, but standing in front of the back door. His face was towards Sam and his mouth slightly open, like he was in the middle of talking. His eyes were turned to the camera. They were tired eyes but clearly amused by the photographer. It was easy to suspect that Dean took the picture.

“Don’t let Dean see you with it,” Sam had instructed as he handed Jack the glossy photo.

Jack had wanted to ask why. Why doesn’t Dean talk about Castiel? Why does any conversation about the dead angel make Dean walk away? How could someone with such a bright soul, that his father held in such high regard, be so mean? He could feel the affection from Castiel whenever he had talked to Jack’s mother about the Winchesters, especially Dean. He wants to believe that Dean had returned the feelings, but he hasn’t shown otherwise. Jack finds it hard to know what people are feeling. He knows that Castiel’s death has affected Dean in some way; he feels it come off Dean in a cloud that floats around him. It’s probably something simple, something that any human can pick up on. Unfortunately, he isn't human. He suspects that the reason he could relate to Castiel so well was because they are similar and lie off the human spectrum.

Humans are much more complicated. He can pick up changes in attitudes or feelings, but not what those changes are, unless it’s explicitly written on their faces or they verbalize it. He’s found that if he concentrates slightly on someone's soul he can hear their thoughts and dissect their intentions and emotions. However, humans find this uncomfortable and violating, and then at the same time, want people to know what they are feeling so others can accommodate them. It’s a constant game of guessing.

In fact, sometimes he has to guess what he’s feeling, emotionally. His mother’s death makes him sad. He would describe it as a heavy mass that sits in his throat that he can’t swallow. When he’s happy the world seem brighter, literally, like all the colors are saturated. Other times he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, or even what he’s supposed to feel. In one way he’s so human that he feels so much; in another, he’s so foreign that his feelings are a mystery. He knows he has to be careful, though. When he gets overwhelmed he knows he can’t control himself, like how he instantly appeared at the staircase.

He wonders if that’s why Castiel is back.

Sam had asked him if it was possible for him to bring people back. He hadn’t known what to say at the time. He knew that if he could, he would start with his mother and Castiel. But right now, most of what he can do is by accident. Although, he can proudly say that he can will a nougat bar into existence whenever he wants. Which amuses Sam and irritates Dean. Then again, everything he does irritates Dean.

That is one of the other reasons that Jack is so eager to have Castiel around. Maybe he could explain to him the complex human that was Dean. The main reason, however, was that Jack would like to have someone with angelic origins in his life. (His biological father does not count.)  

It occurs to him that maybe he should have asked where the brothers were and how long it would take them to get to the bunker. As much as he wonders, he can’t bring himself to call or text them to find out. Would the anxiety that comes with counting down the minutes till they arrive outweigh the nervous anticipation of when Castiel will walk through the bunker door? His very next thought is that he’s no longer sure how long he’s been waiting now.

Time is a finicky thing, he finds. It can feel like every minute is stretching on forever and he can count the hundreds of things that happen in each second. Or it can be so quick that he can’t keep up.

He should do something to keep him busy. Maybe he should make food for when they return? What does his father like? He imagines that you can build quite an appetite when you’ve been dead. Jack loves eating. He has discovered that he can get on Dean’s good side if he asks for seconds of his cooking.

Oh wait, Jack’s never cooked anything in his life.

He decides he’ll wait. Right at the bottom of the stairs.

He tries thinking really hard about them, so maybe he can just appear wherever they are. It doesn’t work, but at least it helps him think about something other than the fact that at any minute the person he’s spent so long seeking out will be with him.  

Any minute now.

His hand fidgets slightly and he feels the weight of a nougat bar in the pocket of his jacket. He doesn’t hesitate to open it and take a bite. Sam has told him that eating nougat must be his coping mechanism, due to it spontaneously being summoned when Jack is under stress. It’s a better habit then chewing your nails, Sam had added. Dean had agreed that there were worse habits, and then promptly took a swig of his third beer.

Jack’s pocket continues to refill itself. He shoves empty wrappers into other pockets, filling them up gradually. Eventually, they are all stuffed, and so he lets the wrappers fall to the floor at his feet. They instantly disappear. Dean is very adamant that the bunker is a home that should be kept clean.

He does receive a call from the Winchesters eventually. As he takes his phone out of his pocket, more wrappers fall to the floor and dissipate. It’s Sam, whose voice is shaky, which does nothing to settle Jack’s nerves. Sam has been the one he looks to for guidance, and the way his voice sounds strained when he says that they are fifteen minutes away and Castiel is passed out along the back seat of the Impala, doesn’t do well for the anxiety that is digging into his lungs.

His teeth have begun to ache. Jack assumes it’s because he’s worried about Castiel. He’s not human enough to know it’s most likely from the massive amount of candy he’s been eating for an undetermined amount of time.

The sound of the heavy bunker door kicks him off his train of thought. He sees Sam’s back first, and as they make their way down the metal staircase, he sees that Sam is holding Castiel up by his legs. Dean has his arms hooked under Castiel’s, keeping Castiel's body elevated. Both their faces are written with exhaustion. Neither brother acknowledges Jack in any way, but he doesn’t feel bothered. He couldn’t find any words to say to them right now anyway.

He trails behind them as they slowly stumble down the hallway, his hands twisted into his shirt the whole way. Jacks walks a little to the side behind Sam, so he can catch glimpse of Castiel’s face. _He looks dead,_ he thinks. Castiel’s face is sickly pale, with blue lips on a slightly opened mouth and purple splotches around his eyes. If Jack couldn’t see the faint glow that rises off Castiel, he would assume he was more than just unconscious. His clothes look clean, however, and seem to have more life in them then the person they are on.

The gnawing anxiety he was feeling before is replaced with something heavier. Something that doesn't make him want to claw his skin, but rather makes something sit in his stomach. He doesn’t know if he would describe it as dread or disappointment. He does know that he is having a hard time believing the entity that is passed out in the Winchesters’ arms is an actual angel of the Lord. He’s seen angels, and while this man was definitely not a man, he was no angel.

They eventually stop at Castiel’s room. There’s a static pause before Dean kicks the door hard and stares pointedly at Jack. Jack skirts around the brothers, careful not to brush against Castiel. He opens the door and stands behind it, so he’s not in the way of the brothers as they move in and place Castiel on the bed. He briefly hopes that Dean won’t notice the way the blankets are pulled back slightly and the pillows are flat and askew.

Dean pays it no mind. He has his hand on Castiel’s face, cradling it in his palm. He then places his other hand on his chest. It rises and falls along with Castiel’s breathing. Jack is mildly surprised that Dean’s being so attentive. He tries to catch Sam’s eye to get an explanation, but Sam is still looking at Castiel.

The hand on Castiel’s face softens and strokes along his cheek. The other curls into Castiel’s shirt slightly before Dean straightens up and clears his throat. Jack keeps his eyes on him, because he can’t bring himself to look at Castiel for too long.

“Can you wake him up?” Dean asks Jack, it’s the first words Dean has said to him since he returned.

Jack shrugs his shoulders in response. He’s nervous again and shuffles his way over to stand next to Dean at Castiel’s side. He has absolutely no idea what to do.

Tentatively, he reaches out and places his hand on top of Castiel’s limp one on the bed next to him. It's cold and slightly damp against his palm and fingertips. He hates it and has to stop himself from recoiling. Nothing happens at first. As each second passes, Jack gets more and more nervous. He’s basically winging it. He tries to focus on where his skin touches Castiel’s.

Jack clamps his eyes shut so he can focus. There’s something moving under his skin, something running under the surface like a small rushing current. It pulses every few seconds and then it occurs to him that it must be the blood moving throughout Castiel’s body. He presses his hand down more and then he can _hear_ the blood flow. There’s another sound that comes in the more he concentrates on it. It sounds like static, like thousands of bubbles being popped at once. Then it smooths out to a ringing tone. The tone then rises in pitch, before it ultimately begins to carry a rhythm.

Jack instantly know what it is, what it has to be.

Castiel's grace is bright, at least what little there is. There’s something familiar about, like his mother’s soft voice or the taste of nougat. It feels... grainy, however. Like the leftover cereal at the bottom the box, all broken up in small pieces. He’s not sure how to fix it, but something in him is reaching out to touch Castiel’s grace. Jack lets it flow from his fingertips into Castiel’s skin, into his blood and into his depleted grace.  

“Jack,” someone says. He opens his eyes and hesitantly looks down at Castiel.

He pleasantly surprised to find that Castiel looks _much_ better. His skin is warmer and his chest rises and falls more deeply. Jack smiles up at the Winchesters. He’s very impressed with himself. Sam smiles back and nods at him, looking very pleased. Even Dean gives him a celebratory familial pat on the back. It makes Jack feel giddy and light.

Castiel’s scream cuts Jack’s sense of accomplishment short. He starts thrashing against the bed and headboard while his head twists back and forth and side to side. Dean makes a move to grab him when he begins to claw at his own face. Dean tries shoving Jack away by hip-checking him, but Jack grasps tightly to Castiel’s hand.

“Get away from him!” Dean demands as he holds down Castiel’s shoulders. Sam has moved to pin down Castiel’s legs. Dean shoves at him again, but Jack doesn’t move even slightly.

Jack watches his own hand as it reaches out and taps Castiel’s forehead. Castiel immediately stills and collapses against the bed. His chest resumes a nice healthy rhythm. Jack thinks he looks calm, dare he say angelic. The complete opposite of the other occupants of the room.

Dean is panting and his face is scrunched up uncomfortably. Sam’s hair is a mess and he looks somehow smaller than Jack had thought possible. He wants to leave the room and hide in his own, with the door locked, away from angsty Winchesters and a comatose fallen angel. Nobody’s talking; the only sound is Castiel’s smooth breathing from his slightly open mouth. It’s tense and awkward between everyone standing in the small room.

Jack hates it when things are awkward. It makes him want to crawl underneath dozens of heavy blankets.

“Will he be alright?” someone, Sam, finally asks. Jack looks at Dean, expecting him to answer. Instead, he finds Dean looking back at him expectantly. One glance at Sam finds him with the same expression.

It occurs to Jack that they are asking _him_. Which is absolutely idiotic, because he has absolutely no idea what the heck he’s doing most of the time, yet alone of any sort of knowledge on situations like the one they’re in. He’s been in existence for less than a year, give him a break. He sighs, which relieves some of the annoyance he has.

He doesn’t know what to tell them. “I don’t know,” he tells them. He shrugs to prove how much he doesn’t know.

Dean puffs up, something Jack notices he does when he wants to be intimidating. He points at Jack with a shaky finger, then at Castiel. “Fix him,” he demands.

Jack looks pointedly at the finger and then glances back at Castiel quickly. “I think he looks substantially better than when you brought him in,” he says to the finger in his face. Which turns out to be the _wrong_ thing to say, because Dean’s face turns very red.

“Guys,” Sam breaks in. He’s behind Jack with his hands on his shoulders. Jack lets him move him away from Dean. He gets in between them and stands in front of Dean with his hands out like an offering. His voice is soothing in a way that he only uses for Dean. “Why don’t you guys go to bed? I’ll stay up with Cas and wake you up if anything happens.”

Before Jack can volunteer to take Sam’s spot at Castiel’s bedside, Dean interjects with, “No, I’ll do it.” Jack chooses not to argue, though he’s surprised by Dean’s sudden eagerness. He offers like it’s something he has to do. Jack finds that he is exhausted standing in this room with them and turns to leave with Sam, who looks equally drained. Sam gives one last look at Dean, filled with understanding. But understanding about what, Jack doesn’t know.

Jack makes brief eye contact with Dean as Sam leads him out of the room by his elbow. Dean looks defeated and perhaps more tired than Jack feels. And as Jack walks to his room, he can’t stop thinking about the way Dean looked at his father as the door shut.

Jack, surprisingly, falls asleep very easily. He knew he was tired, but he had assumed that the events that transpired before would keep him up with restless thoughts and worry. He had thought the bundle of something awful that rested in the stomach would prevent him from sleeping. He doesn’t even need to sleep, but it is by far his favorite leisure activity. He also doesn’t have to deal with the problems that cause him so much uncertainty and anguish when he’s awake.

So, yes, he does enjoy sleeping. He loves his multiple pillows he has gathered from around the bunker and his plethora of blankets. The Winchesters don’t bother him either. If they seek him out and he’s napping, they wait till he’s awake. It’s fascinating and confusing to him that he can be so free in such a vulnerable state.

He also loves dreaming. Given his limited experience with the world, most of his dreams consist of what the Winchesters have exposed him to, vague images and impressions of his mother, and sometimes what he thinks Castiel would be like. Even when he dreams of nothing, it’s better than dealing with whatever is happening when his eyes are open. Mostly, his dreams are nice and he’s often eager for them to form in his mind.

On one occasion, his dream was not pleasant. He hesitates to even call it a dream, because it feels like a forgotten memory, or a story that’s been passed down from multiple people so it’s basically nothing like the original tale. It’s not necessarily violent, like he imagines the Winchester brothers' dreams are, but it makes him wake up with a jerk regardless.

It begins with his mother, or at least her soul. It’s soothing and warm, like a controlled fire; a fireplace or campfire. It gives off pops of sparks that don’t burn him, but rather feel like something tender and sweet. It grows steadily and gains more heat, until it’s no longer comforting but instead makes him want to twist away. Soon, it's burning him, dancing on his skin, and he can’t get away. It hurts him, but not too much, like it's trying to protect him by forcing him to do something. But he doesn’t know what to do and the fire grows and grows and then it's gone. Snuffed out like a candle, and that’s when Jack knows that his mother is dead.

He wakes up suddenly, because that’s the dream his brain plays for him. He’s not in his bed but sprawled out on Castiel’s bedroom floor with his face squished against the rough, dingy carpet that Dean frets over so much but can never get the old smell out of its fibers.

Jack is familiar with this position, as it has happened multiple time. He slowly pushes himself up so he can crawl into Castiel’s bed like usual. It’s not nearly as comfortable as his own and lacks the blankets and pillows he desires.

It’s only a second later that he remembers that Castiel’s bed is very much occupied with Castiel himself. He’s on his back like Jack last saw him, but his face is sideways in his pillow, towards Dean. His coat is off and folded on the desk, and his shoes and belt are off also. The side of the bed that Castiel doesn’t take up is filled with Dean. He’s turned towards the center and curled slightly, a contrast to how straight the other occupant of the bed is. His arm is curled up so it aligns and presses against the side of Castiel’s.

 

Jack suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be here. He should not be seeing this. Maybe it’s because Dean has made it clear that no one should not be watching others while they’re asleep. But Jack feels it isn’t that. He knows it’s not. Dean looks too content and relaxed, something Jack doesn’t usually find with Dean. It’s a rarity that Jack didn’t expect, but then again Dean has always acted eccentric when it comes to his father.

He leaves the room quietly, being sure to avoid waking Dean. He’s doesn’t know what he would say to him.

Jack crawls into his bed. He burrows right in the center with three blankets piled on top of him completely, another under him, and one wrapped around his shoulders. He has a pillow under his head and one held in his arms. His body is comfortable, but his mind isn’t.

This time, Jack’s thoughts keep him awake.

* * *

 

_After arguing with the cosmic body that was in charge of The Empty, he didn’t expect to be dropped off so close to the Winchesters. Castiel suddenly was standing in front of Impala, although his knees felt unstable and wobbly. He could make out Sam and Dean, both on their respective sides of the car. Both of them positioned as if they were just about to sit inside. His sudden appearance must have been quite a shock to them, as they seemed to be frozen in place._

_He thinks he sees Dean mouth his name, but his ears can’t seem to pick up sound. Both brothers walk cautiously towards him. Dean has his arms out slightly, both defensive and welcoming. Castiel tries to open his mouth, to get some words to form. He needs to tell Dean that it’s really him._

_The world tilts sideways, and he loses his balance. He loses consciousness before Dean catches him._

Castiel’s eyes don’t adjust when he opens them. They go in and out of focus, and everything's a blur of colors and shapes, abstract forms that give him no clues as to where he is. It’s quite disorienting, so he closes them and keeps them shut. He can’t hear anything either and is unable to decipher if it’s because there is nothing for him hear, or if perhaps his ears don’t work in the first place.

He definitely is bodily aware; at least, he knows that he is in his vessel. He feels that confining, yet familiar comfort that has grown from occupying it for so many wearying years. It’s an anchor in the waves of uncertainty that he feels right now. If only he could properly assess his surroundings. He’s concerned that the other him from The Empty has sent him somewhere awful, or worse, he succumbed to the Sleep like that cosmic entity wanted. He immediately dismisses that idea, because this doesn’t feel like eternal damnation.

In fact, he feels very safe. As much as his instincts are telling him to move, he can’t really sense any danger. He tries to flare out his grace to see what it can pick up, but he surprises himself when he notices how damaged it is and how little grace he has. There’s less than there was before he died.

Also, the piece of foreign grace repairing his own is quite a shock. He doesn’t recognize it, and tries to pull his grace away, but the other one reaches a tendril out and curls around Castiel’s keeping the grace with it. His own grace pulses and doesn’t follow his commands. Instead, it lets itself continue to be healed. It irks Castiel slightly. His grace has never actively chosen to disobey him.

He stands by curiously, letting the foreign grace twist around the small amount of his grace, mending parts back together and filling patches. Castiel can’t fathom why. The amount that he has left to work with certainly isn’t worth this much trouble. _Castiel_ isn’t worth this much trouble.

He gives opening his eyes another go. This time, the abstract shapes blur together to form some scenery that he does recognize. He sees a desk—his desk—up against the wall with a lit lamp sitting on top. Dean is on the bed sleeping next to him, a predicament that Castiel was not prepared for. The lamp colors the room in a dull yellow glow that Castiel has never found pleasing, but does give Dean a warm glow. He’s in his room at least, a place that he knows.

He blinks his eyes a couple times trying to adjust them more, but his eyelids are heavy. He anticipates sleep will consume him soon, but spend a few more moments gazing at Dean. It pleases him greatly that his final attempt to fend of Lucifer wasn’t in vain. At least he hopes so; he doesn’t know about the other Winchesters yet. Or even Jack.

But Dean is alive, and that means the world to him. Of course, he can’t help but feel some sort of worry, because, well, he _shouldn’t_ be. Is Dean the reason for the intruder in his vessel? And as much as he’s happy that Dean is still living, a very much alive Dean tends to do stupid things to get very much dead people to be not-dead. He swears, if the reason he can groggily glare at the unconscious human in his bed is because of some idiotic plan that will most likely lead all of them down a hard path that, worst case scenario, leads to another apocalypse, he will lose it. Honestly.

Despite his worries, his eyes drift shut. He can’t bring himself to open them again, but neither does he feel the need to. Castiel knows that he’s safe now. All thoughts of the mysterious grace and of Dean slip away as he falls into a non-lethal sleep.

Castiel wakes up and drifts off multiple times. Each time he’s a little more aware and lucid. The day Dean notices him awake, he gives Castiel a bright smile that Castiel wishes he could return. Dean has always carried the world’s troubles on his shoulders, and it often manifests in his eyes. However, every once in a while, Dean can make the look of weariness disappear with a grin.

Dean touches the back of his hand softly, his fingertips warm against the back of his hand. “Hey, man,” his voice is laced with kindness, and it’s soothing. He’s standing over Castiel at his bedside, looking down on him. It’s a beautiful sight to wake up too.

Castiel surprises himself as he realizes he can turn his hand slightly and curl his fingers around Dean’s. He would never do this otherwise, but something in him craves this kind of touching. It’s a loose hold, far from actually holding Dean’s hand. He wants to tell Dean to _just hold my hand, please._ It’s almost primal, how much he wants the contact. However, nothing escapes his lips.

“Hello, Dean,” he manages. His own voice makes his head vibrate and tears his throat.

Dean moves his hand away. Castiel feels something gross lodge in the throat at the loss. It’s mixed with disappointment and shame. Dean ducks down a little to get closer to Castiel’s face. “How ya feelin’? You had us worried there.”

“I have to urinate,” Castiel replies after realizing how uncomfortable and stiff he feels. He frowns when Dean huffs a laugh at him. It’s a beautiful sound.

♥

Sam engulfs him a hug when Castiel walks into the kitchen with Dean in tow. It’s almost overwhelming—affection from the Winchesters always is. He leaves a huge hand on Castiel’s shoulder and pats him before pulling away. Sam looks well, healthy. It’s a relief to see him, but only reminds Castiel he has questions about the day he died. “I’m digging the new look,” Sam says, then sends a wink at Dean who’s busied himself with making Castiel something to eat.

Castiel unconsciously pulls on the long sleeves of his shirt, tucking them in his hand. The shirt is thin, and although he is very grateful that Dean would let him borrow his own clothes and was waiting outside the bathroom with a folded shirt and sweatpants, he misses the weight of his regular attire. A constant need to layer on clothes was a problem last time he fell this far. It wasn’t necessarily a problem with the cold, but the weight felt grounding.

They sit at the table, Sam across from him with a bowl of yogurt and granola, while Dean gathers what he needs to make a meal. Castiel tracks him as he moves around the kitchen. He rarely gets to witness Dean so relaxed in a space of his own. Even in the countless motels that Dean grew up in, he’s never seen Dean so free.

“Mary?” he brings up. He can’t help but notice the room feels one Winchester short.

Dean bristles at the counter and fumbles with the leftover container in his hand. Mary is clearly a tender subject that usually he avoids. Both brothers are prone to not wanting to talk about their problems, anyway. Plus, he has no experience with mother-child relationships, so his advice is very limited. He glances at Sam, who gives him a tight smile. “She’s uh–” Sam begins. He’s looking at Dean too now, who has begun aggressively stirring soup, making it slosh on to the stove. “She’s good. Had some stuff to do, so she headed out.” He shrugs and flips his hand in the air nonchalantly, but his mouth is turned downward at the corners.

Castiel can tell Sam’s trying to present himself as fine with Mary’s absence. Dean contributes to the conversation by grumbling something under his breath. He has nothing to add to the discussion of Mary, as he’s sure she’s dealing with something on her own, so he nods and moves on. “What about Lucifer?” He’s almost scared to know the answer. He wasn’t fearful to die for their cause, but it would kill him if he found out his sacrifice was in vain. Some part of him still craves the need to be of value. And if giving his life does nothing, then what does he have?

The validation he gets from the Winchesters helps somewhat, but it’s not enough. He doesn’t know what would fill that void.

“Not a problem,” Dean answers he turns around with a steaming bowl of soup. It looks creamy and smells garlicky. Castiel’s stomach must agree because it makes a loud demanding noise. Dean sits at the table and scoots his chair closer to Castiel’s. His knee is a breath away from Castiel's own. “At least not our problem.” He pushes the bowl of food towards Castiel and presses a spoon against his hand. “Let’s try not dying next time; it’s put a real damper on the mood,” he adds with a smile.

Castiel looks at him, _really_ looks at Dean, with squinted eyes and eyebrows pinched together. “Did _you_ really just try telling me not to die?” he asks, then takes a bite of his food and burns his mouth. It’s almost painful, but he swallows it anyway, because he’s sure spitting it out would be rude.

Sam snorts at Castiel’s comment and Dean pouts. “Okay, I get it. We die a lot. But point is, let’s not go all kamikaze every time shit goes down. It’s a new rule.” This time, Sam full on laughs at Dean. Castiel chuckles and tentatively sips a spoonful of his soup. It's still scalding. Dean crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, his bottom lip protruding slightly. “Yeah, well fuck you guys. I’m trying to be the rational one.”

“Dude–” Sam tries to say, but his own laughter keeps interrupting him. “Dude, rational? Rational isn’t wanting to use a grenade launcher as a solution to every problem.”

“Oh, screw you, Sam. That came in handy when we needed it.” Sam just nods and lets out a few more chuckles. Castiel only has a vague idea about what they’re talking about.

Castiel pats Dean’s arm a few times to pacify him. “Hopefully, Jack doesn’t pick up the martyr trait,” Sam says as he scoops the last bit of yogurt from the container.

Dean stiffens under Castiel’s hand. “Jack is here? Is he–” He stands up, abandoning his steaming soup, ready to find Jack. Dean grabs his sleeve and tugs him down, but Castiel refuses to move. “Can I see him? Where is he?” He suddenly feels a sense of urgency and completely guilty because he has barely given two thoughts about the child that he swore to protect.

“Wow, man, chill. The kid’s not going anywhere. You need to eat.” Dean pulls him down harder and this time he complies. His voice is rougher than it was a second ago.

“I’ll it eat it later Dean,” he tries to negotiate. “It’s too hot right now, anyway. Let me–”

“Then blow on it, Cas, jeez,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Plus, Lucy Jr. is taking a nap, has been for half the day, slacker.” He takes a spoonful of the soup and gently blows air on it. “He’s not going anywhere,” Dean repeats and blows again on the small amount of soup through slightly puckered lips. He holds the spoon out between them.

Castiel stares blankly at the spoon. His thoughts are torn between finding Jack and Dean’s lips. “I swear to god, if you start feeding him like a kid, I’m gonna barf,” Sam interjects. Dean’s ears tinge red and he hastily takes the spoonful of food for himself, loudly chewing on the little bits mixed in with it. Sam just looks back at him with disgust.

Sam stand up and throws away his empty yogurt cup. He tosses his spoon in the sink. “While we’re on the subject of Jack, _someone_ ,” he says while looking intently at Dean and makes his way across the room, clearing making an escape, but from what Castiel doesn't know, “needs to tell Cas about the Jack situation.”

Castiel looks expectantly at Dean, who’s glaring at his brother’s back as he turns and leaves the room. “There’s a situation?” he asks with worry.

Dean nudges Castiel’s bowl again, but Castiel ignores his food. “Look, how about you eat the delicious soup I made you, and we can deal with the whole Jack thing later?” Castiel blinks at him once before pushing the bowl away. Dean sighs dramatically. “Okay so I’ll fill you in, but you have to eat. Jack says you’re practically human and humans need food, so please just eat.” He looks desperate, like Castiel eating will somehow fix something.

Castiel complies and blows on his own spoonful of soup. He blows too hard the first time and it sprays off his spoon. He’s embarrassed, but Dean graciously doesn’t say anything. Next time, he blows gently and takes a nice mouthful. It’s delicious, and if he weren’t slightly irritated at Dean for withholding information from him, he would compliment him on his culinary skill. He takes another bite and looks intently at Dean’s eyes and waits for him to elaborate.

Dean has two approaches to touchy conversations. One is to prolong what he’s trying to say for so long and bury it deep in self-deprecating jokes. The other is to just yell it in a fit of rage and hope it doesn’t result in any strained relationships in the aftermath. Although, from the way Dean is nodding his head slowly with his lips pursed, Castiel might be experiencing a new, third, undiscovered way.

“The kid, uh Jack, I mean,” he begins, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. “He thinks you’re his dad.” He glances at him, waiting for his reaction. Castiel swallows another spoonful of soup. “He knows who his real dad is, but uh, he seems pretty keen on you Cas.”

“Oh,” he says thoughtfully. He had been perfectly ready to raise the nephilim. His plans and lessons that he had already thought up were based on more of a mentor-student dynamic. Of course, his plans also involved him being a functional, powered angel. He likes to think of himself as a parental figure for Claire, but she’s already a very independent teenager, so Castiel doesn’t have to do much. Jack, on the other hand, would need a lot more instructing. He would need to be taught life lessons and social cues. Castiel himself could barely pick up social interaction, let alone teach it to another. He was far from prepared to be responsible for another life in such a way.

“Dean, I don’t think I’m ready to be a father.” He places the spoon back in the soup bowl. It sinks into the soap and floats to the bottom. His appetite has disappeared.

“You and me both, Cas. But it looks like we’re not gonna have much of a choice. We’ll help as much as we can. Sam is already geeking out like a nerd over this kid, trying to get him to practice his powers and shit.” Dean looks so sincere when he says this that it makes Castiel’s chest ache.

“What’s he like?” Castiel asks.

Dean gets a tight look over his face and looks away. “He’s a good guy for the most part, has good intentions. Sammy’s been the one taking care of him mostly, so it’s better to ask him.”

“You're not telling me something,” Castiel remarks. Dean bristles and leans away from Castiel.

Dean visibly swallows and takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna be honest with ya, Cas. ‘Cause, frankly we can’t leave any unsaid shit, not this time around.” He won’t meet Castiel eyes. “I haven’t been the most friendly to him. I know you wanted to raise Jack, to give him a chance to be good, but I couldn’t do it, man. Every time I look at him, I’m reminded that he got you _killed_ –”

“Dean–” he tries to cut him off but Dean’s on a roll. He is gesturing in the air wildly.

“And then I get so angry, ‘cause he doesn’t even act like he’s the spawn of satan and he acts like you, even does that stupid head tilt and asks questions about shit that I know nothin’ about. Sometimes he squints, and I swear to God that he looks just like you. It makes it harder to hate him.”

Dean runs his hand through his hair and finally looks at Castiel. “I’m sorry, Cas. I couldn’t do the one thing you wanted.”

It breaks Castiel’s heart. Dean’s attempt at honesty is something so new and profound that it almost brings tears to his eyes. He had forgotten how emotional being human could be. He wants to reach out and touch, but knows it’s not permitted. Instead, he leans close enough that he’s sure he’s probably breaking some sort of social rule.

“Dean, you have no reason to apologize. You have every right to feel the way you did,” Castiel tells him and goes on to chase the honesty that’s running through their conversation. “I do wish that you could have given him a chance, but I understand why that must have been hard for you. But I’m here know, Dean, and I’m going to do everything I can for that child, to make sure he’s on our side. I hope you give him a chance at humanity like you did for me.”

Dean gives him a distressed smile, and Castiel wants kiss it off his mouth. “So,” Castiel continues and stands up. “I think that was a good honest, emotional conversation. Don’t you? It was very exhausting, however.”

Dean stands up, too. He nods in agreement with a smile on his face. “Hell yeah it was. See why I avoid emotional shit? Now I want take a nice long nap.” He walks past Cas and pats him on the shoulder. Castiel doesn’t blame him for wanting to make a quick retreat; this was probably difficult for Dean.

But there’s a burning question that sits in his mind and begs to be released. “Is there anything else we should talk about?” he asks before Dean leaves the kitchen. His heart is thumping so fiercely he can feel it in his clenched hands. “While we’re on the topic of honesty?” he adds.

Castiel prays Dean knows what he is talking about. He made the first move before, but it amounted to nothing. Maybe now will be different. Maybe he’ll find out if this sheer, but opaque thing about their relationship is mutual. He holds his breath and waits for Dean.

Dean looks over his shoulder at him, his jaw clenched. Castiel worries that he went too far. This thing about their relationship is never to be acknowledged, and maybe Castiel should have stayed in his lane.

“I think we’re good, Cas,” he answers with a small, friendly smile. Then he turns and leaves.

Castiel watches him go. He wishes he had his coat, so it could weigh him down. Right now it feels like he’s floating and the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is his heavy, hurt heart.

* * *

 

Jack’s the one to seek Castiel out. Castiel had been in the library, reading the spines of books full of knowledge that he most likely knows. He had been hoping to find something to keep his mind off the topic of complicated human relations and one certain human man.

Castiel doesn’t notice him at first, but the foreign grace that is still inhabiting him does. It seems to call towards the other person who has just entered the library. Castiel is able to assess right away that the young man standing in front of him has the very same grace. Even though Castiel is far from a full powered angel, he can still sense who and what this man is.

Sam and Dean had misled him before, having suggested that Jack was a child. He is young, sure, but not a child. He is new and shiny, but there is something archaic and powerful about him. Jack stands straight, like a soldier. His gaze is intense but his eyes are wide and curious. He looks like he is contemplating something. Castiel has to remind himself that Jack can see and sense and possibly feel what Castiel is thinking. It’s almost unnerving, and he finally understands why Dean was keen on keeping his thoughts, explicit or not, away from prying people.

Yet, by the way Jack is looking at him, with bright eyes and a small smile, Castiel can already tell he would do anything for Jack. His very grace is pure and good and it triggers something protective in his own.

Jack starts walking towards him in fast purposeful strides with his arms slowly coming upward. Castiel barely has time to raise his own before Jack wraps his arms around him. It’s comforting and welcoming in way Castiel has never been familiar with.

Jack pulls away first, but Castiel keeps his hands on his shoulders. His hands keep him steady, and maybe Jack too, who now seems to be buzzing with energy. He’s grinning up at him and Castiel can’t help but return a grin of his own.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Father,” Jack says to him, voice awed. Castiel still isn’t sure how he feels about the title, but it doesn’t upset him. Before Castiel can get a word in, Jack’s already talking again, stumbling over his words. “I have so many questions—so many! About everything, and people. There is so much that I just _don’t_ understand. Like how do you know when a handshake is too long? And why Sam keeps buying those protein shakes, when all he does is open them and leave them. All it does is make Dean angry when he has to throw them away. And Dean! I don’t understand him _at all_.” His face contorts into a expression of complete confusion that Castiel finds both hilarious and relatable.

He squeezes Jack’s shoulders to catch his attention and it works slightly. He stops talking, but Castiel can tell he has so much more to ask. However, Castiel has questions that he needs answered, too. Things he he forgot to ask earlier with Dean.

“Jack,” he begins, “I’ve been eager to see you as well.” Jack looks like he’s ready to open his mouth again, so Castiel quickly adds, “Jack, did you—were you the one who brought me back?”

Jack looks down at his hands, like they’ll answer for him. “I–I think so? Maybe. Sam and Dean were arguing—about me—and Dean said that it was my fault you were dead. And I just–” he stops, searching for his words. Castiel gives his shoulders another gentle squeeze. He knows from experience that human emotion can be very confusing, so he gives Jack time. It takes another moment for Jack to speak again. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want them angry at me anymore. I wanted to prove to Dean that I’m good, that I’m worth something. I’m so sorry you died because of me.” Jack’s head is bowed down, so Castiel can’t see his face. He doesn’t have to anyway. He can tell how close to tears Jack is from the way his voice cracks.

Castiel’s heart squeezes so tightly it hurts. To prove himself, to show his worth. It’s something Castiel has and is still struggling with. He pulls Jack back in and holds his head against his shoulder. Jack brings his hands up to clutch at the back of Castiel’s shirt. Like Jack, Castiel has to take a moment to find the right words. “I don’t want you to ever have to feel that way, Jack. And you’ll never have to. Not anymore.”

He understands why the brothers talk about Jack like he a child now; he needs to be _nurtured._ Castiel has little-to-no experience, but for the sake of Jack and himself, he hopes it’s enough.

* * *

 

This is the happiest things have ever been, Jack thinks. Well, “ever” is really in reference to himself, so maybe it would be more correct to say, “This is the happiest Jack has ever been.” Although Winchesters look substantially more happy, as does Castiel, who looks way better than he did when Jack first saw him. The point is that things have been going very well the last few weeks since Castiel came home.

They all sit together for meals, which apparently a human tradition, and Jack loves it. Dean does most of the cooking, but every once in a while he’ll allow Jack to assist. Some meals it’s just Sam and Dean in the kitchen. There’s always more vegetables when Sam cooks, which helps Jack discover that he loves carrots and hates cooked bell peppers. Castiel never makes meals, but he can construct a pretty good sandwich and always know the right amount of sweetener to add to ice tea.

Humanity is wondrous to observe and be apart off. After revealing his obsession with blankets, Castiel had revealed that he too has been tempted to create a nest. _A nest_ is what Jack realizes he is making with his hoard. So he sets off to help Castiel build his own. It’s more tricky—Castiel seems a little more picky about what he wants to use. While Jack is fine with what he can find, Castiel wants specific things, like heavy, thick blankets. Jack doesn’t know how to ask about the times he’s seen Dean’s shirts peeking out from behind a pillow.

They even order heated blankets, which are _magnificent,_ truly one of humanity’s finest inventions, through the _internet_. The internet is another thing that amazes Jack. He can just buy things? In bulk? Whenever he wants to? Sadly, this privilege is taken from him and he is put on “parental lock” by Sam, after he orders an abundance of natural cocoa butter lotion. He admits that it does seem excessive when Dean brings home the ten seventy-two ounce bottles from the post office. But he’s not too ashamed. Everyone uses it, especially Dean, who takes a whole bottle to his room. Plus, Castiel’s hands are very soft. He makes up for his internet limitations by showing him the wonders of Netflix.

Castiel has been teaching him a lot of other useful things, too. Things like how humans find it rude when you don’t acknowledge when they sneeze. It’s really become a running joke between them. It’s game they play by seeing who can say, “Bless you,” before the other.

Castiel also teaches him that it’s important to share and not take something all for yourself. It’s a lesson he’s still struggling with. For instance, when he pours all the Oreos into a bowl with milk, he’s being inconsiderate of the other beings in the bunker because they might like some. (Also, you’re evidently not supposed to eat the delicious sandwich cookies like a bowl of cereal.) But the rule doesn’t apply when someone firmly says that something is theirs, like clothing. Jack has his very own clothes that he picked out from the sacred bargain bin, as does Sam. He assumes that Dean’s clothes are also off limits, although they make up the majority of what Castiel has been wearing. Dean also hasn’t said anything about a couple of his plaid shirts that are tucked in Castiel's nest.  

Some lessons are useful, but harder to understand. Some are taught through pain. Like when Castiel burns his hands on the stove. He shouts and his eyes water in pain. Jack heals him without a thought, but Dean still feels the need to check Castiel’s hands for himself. It makes Jack take notice of hot stoves and the fact the Castiel is practically human.

It’s a predicament that Jack couldn’t help but ponder. It doesn’t start to worry him until he asks Castiel to tell him about music. He’s seeking more information, since he mostly hears Dean’s music and would like to know more. However, Castiel can only bow his head when Jack tells him this. Castiel admits that the only music he really knows is also from Dean. In that moment, things finally click.

Castiel, from the beginning of time, has been an unstoppable celestial force. Now he’s trying to be human, like Jack. Although Castiel does have more experience with humans, he’s still in the same group as Jack. Jack’s glad that Castiel is the one to bring it up, because he doesn’t know how.

“I’m aware, Jack, that this isn’t an ideal situation, being that I am very much...” he trails off, but Jack can guess the absent words for himself.

Jack nods, because it is what it is. “You help as much as you can, Father. Plus, it’s nice learning with someone.” He pauses, then adds with a smile, “It’s also nice to learn from others’ mistakes.” He elbows Castiel in the side, a gesture he knows is used in friendly banter.

Castiel frowns at him briefly, before it turns into a smile. He wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulders and gives him a small hug before letting go.

What Castiel lack in instruction on humanity, he makes up for with his knowledge of how to use grace. Even with the small amount of grace Castiel possesses, he can show Jack the basics. It takes some adjustment to will himself to complete a task, since his grace is much more powerful. He doesn’t have great control, but it’s better than what he could to prior to Castiel’s teaching.

Surprisingly, flying is much easier than trying to levitate a pencil. Castiel tells him it most likely comes with ease because it is a natural instinct, whereas levitating writing utensils is not. He gives Jack a smile. It’s a minuscule reaction, but it means the world to Jack..

He still finds it a huge accomplishment, and it fills him with a sort of pride that he’s never felt before. Sam, who had been doing his best to help Jack prior to Castiel’s return, is ecstatic for him and hugs him fiercely. Dean pats him on the back and tells him he did a good job, which surprises Jack—Dean had complimented him with no malice or sarcasm. He then follows it up by saying they should celebrate, which is another surprise to Jack, and much more pleasant.

This leads to all of them sitting in the T.V room, each with a plate piled with a cheeseburger with a thick patty and homemade fries Jack helped Dean make. Dean and Sam each have a beer placed on the side table between them. Castiel settled for a can of sparkling water, which Jack rather unpleasantly finds out tastes like angry water. Jack has a can of root beer, because as Dean dubs it, it is a “kid’s drink.”  

Sam sits in a huge recliner chair off-set from the couch. Jack doesn’t know its origins, but it looks out of place in the vintage-style bunker, all shiny and with buttons that can make it vibrate. The couch, which is occupied by Castiel and Dean, doesn’t look quite as new with all its loose threads. Jack, at first, tries to squeeze himself between them, but it’s too uncomfortable and some of his fries were lost to the floor when he shifts around. He opts to make a makeshift cushion out of some of the spare blankets from his room.

Everyone seems ready. The movie is ready to go, just waiting for someone to press play. The lights are off too, leaving the T.V. screen as the only source of light in the room. However, Dean, who has control of the remote, hasn’t started the movie. The menu sequence is already repeating itself for a second time.

Instead of starting the movie he presses mute. “I have something I would like to say,” Dean announces. He sounds demanding, or at least he attempts to, but his voice wobbles slightly. Jack casts a quizzical look at Castiel, who sends the same look to Sam, who shrugs. It seems like it is unanimous that none of them know what this is about.

Dean’s poking around at his fries, avoiding all their intense stares. “So, I was thinkin’, since the world isn’t currently ending and all,” he waves a fry in the air, “I wanna start being—I mean at least _trying_ to be—you know, a better… person, a good human.”

Nobody says anything. It’s like Dean turned the sound off in the whole room and not just on the T.V. Castiel seems to be scrutinizing Dean. His head is tilted and his eyes are squinting at him. Sam looks equally puzzled. Dean’s not making eye contact with anyone, so Sam and Castiel exchange another perplexed look. Jack’s still watching Dean who glances up him.

Jack is just about to bring up how awkward he feels, but he recognizes that this might not be the right thing to say.

“Could you guys not look at me like I’m crazy? I’m trying to have a moment,” Dean grumbles then shoves the fry he’s been holding on to for the last thirty seconds into his mouth.

“Dean–”Castiel tries to say, but Dean cuts him off.

“Nope! No one says shit right now!” Dean takes a swig of his beer. “I have been thinkin’ about this a lot lately, okay? Even had this speech planned, but now I can’t remember shit.” He pauses to take in a deep breath. “I think we all have been through enough crap, and nine times outta ten, it’s caused because one of us fucked something up or didn’t say shit. So, no more lying and betraying each other, got that?  Fuck guys, we’ve died, repeatedly, and still didn’t learn cause we’re a bunch of dumbasses. So from now on,” he looks around and makes a point to look everyone in the eye, even Jack, who’s still confused. “I’m gonna make the best fucking effort to not screw things up. I’m even gonna try talking about my feelings when I need to and not drown them in a gallon of liquor.” He’s talking faster now, but is more confident, even though his face looks sick. “And if you guys could please promise to do the same, that would be fucking dandy, cause we have a good thing going here and let’s try not to fuck it up.”

“Okay,” Sam says while nodding. His mouth opens again and closes, cutting off his own words.

Castiel takes a while longer to say anything, but he inclines his head in agreement.

Jack almost wants to say that he hasn’t done any of that, but Castiel nudges Jack with his knee in the shoulder. Jack takes this as an indication that he should just agree too. So he gives an awkward thumbs up with while he takes a sip of his root beer. Dean snorts, but looks content with them.  

He then promptly chugs the rest of his beer and slams the now empty bottle on the table. “That’s all. Thank for coming to my TED talk,” he says with firmness. He finally presses play on the movie and sound fills the room. He takes a bite of his burger and it signals the end of the conversation.

Jack expects everyone to be tense after Dean’s announcement, but something else has settled in the room. Nobody says anything, but it doesn’t feel like there’s anything that needs to be said right away anyway. He can tell that Castiel does have something to say, but he must feel how content things are in this moment.

It’s relaxing in a way that it hasn’t been in the bunker before. It feels like peace.

* * *

 

Of course, things don’t fall into place immediately. Jack doesn’t have a problem with trying to be honest, and he doesn’t know for sure but he imagines not betraying his friends isn't hard. He doesn’t hide how he feels, which is mostly due to his powers being heavily based on his emotions. But Dean seems very passionate about this, so he’s going to try his very best. He still has a list of question he wants to ask. So he visits Castiel after the movie ends, while he’s getting ready for bed.

He knocks once and Castiel tells him to come in. Castiel is already in his sleeping clothes, a pair of thick, worn-looking pajama pants and a button-up flannel shirt. He’s in the middle of tugging on some thick, thick socks when Jack opens his door. He closes it behind him.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Jack begins, even though he knows that he’s going to be doing a lot prying. Castiel looks at him with eyebrows raised, waiting for Jack to continue. “I’m wondering what brought on Dean’s sudden… character development?” Jack has been watching too much T.V., and it’s the only phrase he can think of that makes sense.

“Character development?” Castiel squints as him, a habit that Jack replicates.

“Yes, he seems very eager to be ‘a better person.’ ‘A good human,’” Jack quotes verbally and with his fingers in air quotes.

Castiel’s face hardens and he sternly says, “Dean doesn’t have to try to be a good human; he already is.” His face looks a little sad and Jack can’t tell why. “I know Dean wasn’t very eager to have you around at first, Jack, but you have to know Dean is very sorry for how he treated you,” he tells Jack sympathetically.

“Oh, I know. He already apologized.” Castiel looks surprised at that. “Last week, in the war room. He brought me a root beer—you know that fancy kind in a bottle? He said, and I quote, ‘I know I’ve been an asshole, kiddo. So, sorry about that.’ I have no doubt Dean is a good human. Both the brothers have very bright souls, especially Dean.”

Castiel gets a far away look in his eyes. “You can see his soul?” His voice is quiet and attentive. He picks at the loose threads at the end of his sleeve. Jack sits next to Castiel at the end of his bed. This conversation is not going where Jack had anticipated. He came to Castiel to find out why Dean was doing this, to find out what they had done prior to Jack’s birth that made things like talking about feelings and betrayal such an issue for them.

Jack nods. “It’s very vibrant and quite hard to look at. I only see if I want to, luckily. I think it would be very disorienting to see human souls all the time.”

Castiel gives a small smile, but his eyebrows have knitted together slightly, making it a sad smile. “I miss that,” he says longingly.

“Seeing souls?” Jack asks.

Castiel shakes his head slightly. “Not exactly.” He pulls a thread off his sleeve and it unwinds from the shirt. “I miss seeing Dean’s soul.” Jack takes a moment to think about that. Castiel was once a full-fledged angel, who had probably seen millions of souls. He wonders why Dean’s is so special. “I held it in my hands once,” Castiel tells him. “It was terribly damaged and charred so badly by hellfire that it was barely recognizable as a soul. Yet, it was still the greatest thing I've ever seen. It was broken and tainted, but something about it was still luminous and defined humanity.”

Jack thinks Castiel might be grieving. Grieving that he has been blinded from ever seeing something he was so passionate about. _It must be horrible,_ Jack thinks, _to lose part of yourself._

He places his hand on Castiel's wrist and he instantly knows what Castiel is feeling, his grace giving him more insight than what his inexperienced mind could understand by itself. It’s similar to how he feels about the mother he never got a chance to meet. It’s a deep loss of what once was and perhaps what could have been. But Castiel has something more to his loss. It’s strong and filled with physical pain and hurt emotions. It makes his chest hurt and stops his breath. But it’s also so wonderful and makes his heart beat fast.

Suddenly things make sense.

“You’re in love with Dean,” Jack says, more to himself than to Castiel. He has tears building up in his eyes, overwhelmed by Castiel’s emotions. It’s such a pure and powerful feeling, but it’s chased by the feeling of rejection. Castiel feels that Dean does not return his feelings. Jack curls his fingers around Castiel’s wrist.

“Is it obvious?” Castel asks with a huff of breath.

“Not really. My powers showed me.” Castiel stiffens when Jack tells him this, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. It occurs to Jack that intrusion might be a violation of privacy.

“That must be the human in you, Jack. Angels are usually void of love,” Castiel tells him.

“Not you, Father.”

“Not me,” Castiel agrees.

“You should tell him,” Jack says with more conviction then probably necessary.

Castiel laughs harshly. It makes Jack frown. “I have, on my deathbed, not too long ago. It amounted to nothing. Dean didn’t even acknowledge that I confessed to him.” He sounds as bitter as the smile on his face.

“Maybe there was a miscommunication? Dean made it seem like there has been a lot of not talking about feelings in the past,” Jack says in an effort to comfort Castiel, who appears to be drooping both physically and mentally. It’s obvious that Dean feels something caring for Castiel, but Jack doesn’t know how deep that goes. He knows there a different dynamic in Castiel’s relationship with Dean than his relationships with the other people that inhabit the bunker.

Castiel shakes his head. “It is what it is, Jack. I’ll settle for what is given to me.” He gives Jack a worried look that borders on pleading. “Don’t bring it up with Dean, please Jack. What we have now is the best it’s ever been. My feelings... are not reciprocated, and mentioning it with Dean would only make things uncomfortable.”

Jack frowns in confusion. “Is that not withholding feelings, though? And if one of us doesn’t tell Dean, is that lying?” Jack feels a sense of dread constrict him. “Father, we’re betraying Dean then, by not doing what he asked.” It doesn’t sit right with Jack, the idea of breaking the promise they made to Dean. Jack has never really been able to do anything Dean asked. He couldn’t bring Castiel back when Dean asked, not until Jack needed him. He couldn’t bring back Eileen, the woman Sam had liked, like Dean had wanted. It doesn’t make him happy that he might not able to fulfill the one thing he was sure he could do for Dean.

Castiel doesn’t say anything for a while, and Jack starts to assume that maybe he agrees. However, he just shakes his head back and forth slowly. “Things are better this way, Jack. Not saying anything isn’t hurting anyone.”

“It’s hurting you!” Jack insists. His voice raises unintentionally. His grace stirs, triggered by his strong emotions.

“The pain is worth it, Jack. I’d rather have Dean close as a friend, than have him push me away because my feelings make him uncomfortable.” Castiel sounds convincing, but Jack can’t help but wonder if that’s because Castiel has convinced himself. His voice is resigned too, like he’s given up long ago.

Jack removes his hand from Castiel’s wrist and wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders. It’s awkward because they’re sitting side by side and Castiel is taller than him. He rests his forehead against Castiel’s arm. He knows he’s being lied to. He’s not hurt by the lie, but rather by how Castiel feels he’s not worthy of returned loved by Dean.

Jack doesn’t have much to offer, just what he hopes is a comforting embrace and his own familial love for Castiel. As he walks to his room, tired and drained emotionally from the conversation, he vows to do everything he can to stop the hurt his father feels. Then, as he burrows deep beneath his horde of blankets, he realizes that he never got to ask the questions he’d originally sought Castiel out for. He doesn’t feel the need to find out about their past anymore. He’s more concerned about the present situation.

* * *

 

The very next day, Jack manages to get Sam alone in one of the storage rooms. He has been cataloging and updating the collection of supernatural artifacts that the Men of Letters had started. Jack knows this was the perfect place to catch him by himself. Dean refuses to touch any of the magical objects and Castiel usually helps by correcting any information that was previously wrong. Jack would offer to assist, but he doesn’t like how the objects make him feel when he touches them, even with the gloves that Sam uses that are supposed to protect the wearer from complicated magic.

Jack flies to the room, appearing next to Sam, who is holding a heavily decorative knife with two gloved hands.

“Sam?”

Sam jumps and goes rigid. He lets out a noise that sounds like a high pitched squeak and his face goes hard and eyes wide. He fumbles with the knife and it almost falls to the floor. Jack feels guilty for startling Sam, and in hindsight, maybe unexpectedly showing up next to him while he is handling potentially powerful artifacts isn’t wise. He’ll make a note of that and try to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Although, Jack can’t help but find it a little funny to hear someone of Sam’s size make such a sound.

“Oh, I’m sorry for startling you, Sam,” he apologizes, then lets out the laugh he was trying to contain. “I’m also sorry for laughing. I don’t know why I find this funny.” Despite his words he laughs again.

Sam chuckles. “It’s okay, Jack. And don’t feel bad about laughing. It’s normal to get a kick out of scaring someone. Castiel used to do it to us all the time. I’m sure he did it to Dean on purpose many times.” Jack snorts at the imagery.

“Why? It seems quite mean to do it on purpose,” Jack looks at the knife in Sam’s hand. If he concentrates hard enough, he can see the tendrils of magic that waft around it.

Sam places it carefully into a display container. “Yeah, but if no one is really hurt, then it's a joke. Like a prank,” Sam explains as hunches over the table in the center of the room, typing away on his laptop.

“Oh, like how Dean replaced your hairbrush with a little doll one?”

“Yup,” Sam answers.

Jack takes a moment to think and smiles. “It _was_ very amusing to watch you scold Dean while holding it.” Sam had held the tiny plastic brush in between his fingers, somehow making it look even smaller than it was. Then he told Dean he could go choke on his convenience store pie. Jack thought it was a rather violent response, but he’s learned that threats to one’s very life can be okay if it’s the right context.

Sam rolls his eyes dramatically. He’s very good at it, especially when Dean’s the topic. “I’m glad you think so,” he says with no malice. Sam had found Dean’s prank funny after his actual brush was returned to him, and after he jokingly demonstrated what brushing his hair with the tiny one looked like.

“Not that talking about the mechanics of pranking isn’t great and all, but is there something you needed?” Sam closes his laptop with a click. He takes his gloves off, too, tugging them off each finger first. He then walks to the back of the room and starts pulling down dusty, yellow files.

It’s good Sam reminded Jack. He doesn’t want to forget to ask what he needs to, like yesterday with Castiel.

“Oh, yes. I wanted you to know that my father is in love with Dean,” Jack declares. Sam freezes halfway through pulling out the cabinet. “Also, that he doesn’t what Dean to know. He said I can’t tell him.” He didn’t, however, say he couldn’t tell Sam.

Sam turns around slowly. He doesn’t look at Jack, but rather off in the distance. His face goes through a series of expressions Jack can’t decipher. His mouth opens and closes. He blinks slowly and shakes his head with a frown. Then the taller man tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows, like he’s realizing something. Then he nods and shrugs. It’s very nerve-racking for Jack. He’s not sure what to make of Sam’s reactions. He finally looks at Jack and nods. “That makes sense.” He walks back over and dumps the files on the table. “But, uh–” he glances at Jack before he starts going through the documents. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this?”

Jack squints at Sam. Sam, who’s supposed to the bright one, squints back in equal confusion. “Dean said we’re supposed to talk about our feelings, and Father refuses to tell him. And I can’t tell him. And we’re not supposed to keep secrets!” Jack is very exasperated right now. Was he the only one that listened to Dean? Truly, he has a loose grasp of most concepts—can’t be the only one of them that intended to keep his promise!

Sam bristles a little, clearly uncomfortable. That’s not what Jack intended, but he has to get to the bottom of this.

“Jack,” Sam begins, “Dean just meant—he meant that… Okay so, like—it’s like this: some things are really important to tell others about, and then there are some things that… aren’t as important?” It’s a very weak explanation and Jack knows Sam knows it, too. No wonder Dean wants things to change; none of them know how to have had a conversation that involves emotions. Sam is trying, at least, but Jack thinks his explanation is complete and utter _bullshit_.

“Bullshit,” Jack says. The word is foreign on his tongue and it leaves a bitter taste on his taste buds. Sam looks just as taken back at the word as Jack is. “How do you decide what’s important and what’s not? Are Father’s emotion’s not important to talk about?” He’s angry now, not at Sam, but angry that humans in general have so many rules, and then sub-rules for certain circumstances that don’t make sense. It makes his grace press against the surface of his skin and his muscles tense. He breathes through his nose and tries calming himself. A nougat bar appears in his hands and he aggressively unwraps it and takes an angry bite.

“No-no,” Sam amends and runs his hand through his hair, a habit Jack knows means Sam is trying to mull something over. “Cas’s feeling are important, Jack. I just mean, that—look, okay, so we have done a lot of shit before you that uh—it caused people to die—good people, sometimes friends, sometimes us.” He sighs. His face is etched with guilt. “We did things that, at the time, we thought were for the right reasons, thought they would help us beat the bad guys, when really, if we’d all just— discussed plans with each other, then we could have prevented a lot of death. And Dean? Something about Cas dying this time it—it messed him up, Jack. You saw that. He wants to prevent that. None of us want to bury each other, not again.” Sam looks so defeated and older then Jack has ever seen him.

Jack chews his candy slowly, processing Sam’s words. So were their promises only in effect under those circumstances? Jack may not know any details, but he does know that the Winchesters and Castiel have been responsible for saving the world, and he suspects that maybe they might have been the ones to tear it up, as well. It’s relieving, in a twisted way, that he hasn’t broken his promise to Dean. But then the relief is replaced with a sudden gripping worry. The other members of his family have gone through so much, who’s to say that they won’t have to face another trial? They’ve all lost people. He lost his mother before he ever really got to say anything to her. His biggest regret will probably be being born, because it had killed his mother.

If Castiel dies, he’ll die thinking his love is unwanted. The idea makes Jack want to cry. Castiel doesn’t deserve that. And surely Dean would revert back to the way he was when Jack first arrived.

And Dean. If Dean dies, Castiel will have to deal with the death of a loved one.

Both situations make him depressed. He doesn’t even trust his abilities enough that he could bring them back.

“Do you think Dean loves my father?” he asks, then adds, “Romantically?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away. It worries Jack that if Sam has to _think_ about it, maybe he doesn’t. “He might?” Sam says slowly, like he’s still working through the idea. “He loves Cas, no doubt. But I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to see it that way.’’ It’s nice to hear Sam confirm that there is something between them, like Jack thought. Even as Sam says it out loud, he can tell that maybe Sam is starting to get what Jack is saying. “He does do a lot of stuff for Cas that I sure as hell wouldn’t do for a platonic friend,” he adds with realization in his voice.

“Castiel doesn’t think so, Sam. He says he told him once, while he was dying, and Dean never brought it up.”

First Sam looks confused, then he throws his hands in the air with shock written on his face. “Oh my god. He did—Cas did! He said, ‘I love you, I love all of you.’ He looked right at Dean. How the hell did I miss that?” He slams his hands on the table. Instead of rolling his eyes, he rolls his whole head, too, like he finds the whole thing unbelievable. “If I didn’t notice, Dean sure as hell didn’t. Between his ingrained self-hatred and the way his emotional constipation needs a doctor’s prescription, it probably went right over his head.”

Jack smiles, nougat bar stuffed into his pocket half- finished and forgotten. He nods eagerly. “See? That’s why we have to tell him.” Jack makes a move to turn. He plans to tell  Dean right this instant. He’s so glad this problem is solved. Human emotions are draining. He’s gonna take a nap and–

He doesn’t get out the door before Sam pulls him back. Jack frowns at him. “You can’t just tell Dean!” Sam says in a loud whisper, like what they’re discussing is supposed to be a secret, yet he doesn’t lower the volume of his voice. He glances out the door, biting his lip.

“Why not? You said it yourself that he might feel the same way,” Jack persists. He is becoming irritated. It seems like the most simple solution to the situation is to tell Dean.

Sam gives a long sigh that’s followed up with a deep breath. Jack’s worries he may have annoyed Sam with his questions. He wishes that he could understand the logistics of these kinds of human problems, but he _doesn’t._

“Look, we just can’t dump that kind of information on him, Jack. Yeah, Dean said he’s gonna try to work on his issues, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for… for a _love confession._ The dude probably doesn’t even know he loves Cas, ‘cause he’s so dense about it. He’s probably never even been in love,” Sam explains carefully, still in a stage whisper. He’s bending down slightly, so he can be more at Jack’s level.

Jack tries to explain while also replying in an unnecessarily hushed voice. “I can find out, Sam! I just have to touch him, and I can tell how he feels. That’s how I found out with Castiel.”

Sam looks grim and he shakes his head. “Jack, you can’t do stuff like that. It’s kinda messed up. Plus, if Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas, it’ll freak him out.”

“I know,” Jack admits, “but what else can we do?”

Sam shrugs his large shoulders. “Just wait it out I guess? See if they get their heads out of their asses?” He gives a small smile. This answer doesn’t satisfy Jack one bit. Sam must be able to tell from the scowl on his face, because his smile drops.

“We don’t have time to wait,” Jack presses in a harsh whisper. “What if something comes up before they get a chance to get ‘their heads out of their asses’? What if one if someone dies again?”

Jack’s argument strikes something in Sam, who leans back and stares at the ground. His shoulders slump and his fists clench. Jack knows he’s thinking about Eileen, and he feels terrible that he steered the conversation in that direction. But he needs Sam to see things the way he does.

It would be simpler, he supposes, if he could explain to Sam why this is such a huge dilemma, why this matters so much to him. He would if he could, but he can’t translate it into words. He knows that his father and Dean have to resolve this. He knows it goes past just curing Castiel of his longing. But he fears he’s not human enough to understand his own complicated feelings.

Sam sighs again, this time defeated. “Okay Jack, okay. I’m in, but we’ve got to figure out what we’re gonna do. We have to tread carefully.”

Jack gives Sam such a big smile his face aches. Sam gives him a hesitant one back. It’s enough to convince Jack that Sam is on his side.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean has no idea what the _fuck_ is happening, but it sure as hell is pissing him off. He is putting his damn heart on his sleeve, making an effort to cut back on his crap and all. He even has a list, a list of things that he’s gonna do to work on his self-image for himself, and his family. There’s a decent amount on the list, but Dean will admit he is quite a piece of work. But his list kinda really depends on the people he loves following through on their promises. It took a lot of effort for him to open up like that.  

So why the fuck are people sneaking around behind his back. Did he expect things to just start falling together? No, not really. Did he think that the people he has died for would at least _try_? Also, not really. But for fuck’s sake, they could at least humor him.

He first notices that treachery is afoot when he hears whispering from the library. You know who whispers? People with secrets. And since their little group of misfits has a tendency to hold potentially apocalypse-starting secrets, Dean can’t help but investigate. He had been on his way to the kitchen to make pancakes for everyone, but that’s been put on pause.

What he finds is Jack and Sam huddled in the corner of the library, talking in low voices. Even if they weren’t whispering, it would still be suspicious because it’s so early in the day. Dean hasn’t even had coffee yet. Sam usually wakes up at the same time as him, so that’s not a surprise. But Jack and Castiel sleep till Dean finishes breakfast. Hell, sometimes Jack sleeps longer than that. The whole thing pisses him off more. They couldn’t wait till he was caffeinated?

He manages to hide behind the opening, with his head peeking out to observe his current least favorite people in the bunker. Cas is getting extra bacon this morning and those two bastards will have theirs served _burnt_.

They look like they’re in a heated argument. While Sam may have physical intimidation on his side, Jack is still a very powerful being, who, the last time was angry, unintentionally blew up the microwave.

Sam is waving his arms around like one of those inflatable neon colored things that businesses use to get noticed. Jack looks angry in a very familiar way. His head is tilted and his face in a scowl. It’s very reminiscent of Cas. He even has the smitey squinty eyes going on too. Dean has to swallow the laugh that bubbles up in his chest so the other two don’t notice him.

He can’t quite catch what they’re saying. The view he has is only of Sam’s oversized back, and Jack, who’s now alternating between smiling and looking confused. He, surprisingly, throws in an eye roll that Dean knows he picked up from Sam. Sam says something to him that makes Jack stomp his foot.

Dean decides he should make his presence known. He can’t hear them anyway, and as much as it’s amusing to watch the kid pout, he’s still paranoid about whatever they could potentially be talking about. He tightens the tie on his dead man robe then knocks on the frame of the entrance. They both jump and make an effort to look nonchalant, or at least Sam does. Jack looks like he’s about to come out of skin he’s so jittery.

“Whatcha ladies talking about?” he says as he makes his way over to stand next to them. Sam has the decency to at least look him in the eye when he lies to him.

“Oh, well–” he begins, but his words trail off. Dean can only arch an eyebrow at his response. He taught Sam better than that. The dude could at least give him something.

He turns his attention to Jack. “You got anything more articulate to say?” The kid flinches, which would bother Dean if he wasn’t trying to figure out what was going on.

Jack looks like he might fly away to avoid Dean’s scrutiny. It surprises him when he answers Dean in slow precise words. “Sam was just telling me about the birds and the wasps.” There’s not a shred of embarrassment in his voice, which Dean suppose makes sense, since it is Jack.

Sam on the other hand, turns the color of a fire hydrant. “It’s the birds and the _bees,_ Jack. Bees.”

“Ah yes, the birds and the bees. Sam was telling me about how the birds—uh… The birds—and the bees of course. They uh–” He looks at Sam for help. Sam is looking up at the ceiling, probably asking Chuck to end him right now. It’s clear Jack has no idea what he’s even trying to lie about. “You see, Dean,” Jack continues, “according to all known laws of aviation, bees should not be able to fly–”

“Alright, Jack thanks for the lesson,” Dean cuts him off. Jack’s jaw snaps shut and he looks away sheepishly. Sam’s looking at the ground now, maybe waiting for something to drag him back to hell. Dean snorts at the both of them. “Well, I’m sure glad we had this little chat. It’s nice to _talk_ to each other, isn’t it? Having a nice, _honest_ conversation?” he stresses. It pleases him to see them squirm.

He waits another second to see if one of them will fess up to something. Jack still looks like he’s gonna burst at the seams. Dean knows he wants to say something, but instead he keeps his mouth tightly closed. He gives a frightened look and then flutters away, probably to hide under all those blankets he’s collected.

Now it’s Sam, who’s shifting his weight from side to side and flipping his hands in the air. “You better cut the bullshit, Sam,” Dean commands just as Sam opens his mouth. “I gave the kid slack, but you better have something to say that’s not an introduction to bee-ology.”

Sam scrunches his nose in distaste. “That’s not even… You know, you’re right, Dean,” Sam amends. “Jack wanted to know if we were gonna go on a hunt soon, and if Cas and him were allowed to go.”

Dean squints at him hard. He wants to believe Sam, and he does sound sincere. “I can buy that. Why were you guys arguing about it?” He crosses his arms and Sam does the same and leans against the wall. He then glances in the direction of Jack’s room.

“I told Jack that we might have to leave them behind. Cas is stuck at low battery and even though Jack is getting better with controlling his powers, a hunt has too many variables and we don’t know how he’ll react to them. Jack didn’t like that. He wants to be a hunter,” Sam explains.

Dean lets that sink in. Sam could be lying right to his face right now, but that does make sense.  They haven’t been actively looking for a hunt since Cas got back. Hell, he hasn’t even felt the need to. The hunt they’d been on when they found Cas had basically been Dean’s way of getting out of the bunker to avoid Jack. They hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the kid alone, but Sam had thrown a Netflix-ready laptop in his lap and Dean had stocked the fridge with TV dinners and off they’d gone.

Eventually, they would have to go on a hunt. The angelic duo had to get their feet wet sometime.

“Why the secrecy, though?” Dean asks. Just because Sam sound convincing doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth.

“You’ve been nesting, Dean. I mean you've been doing that since we found the bunker, but since we got Cas back, you’ve been pretty _domestic_ ,” Sam says carefully, like being _domestic_ will set Dean off in some way.

And maybe it does, because the word gives him a shiver and makes his heart miss a beat. He sure as hell doesn’t know what that means. “I have not been… that,” Dean tries to argue, but even he knows the words are weak when they leave his tongue.

“Dude, you made a chore chart for everyone. You and Cas were talking about giving Jack, an all-powerful nephilim, an allowance,” Sam says with a smirk.

Dean knows he’s teasing him, but the chore chart was made because someone (Sam) doesn’t clean his dishes, and someone else (Jack) just dumps their laundry in front of the washer expecting someone else to wash it, while a certain angel (Cas) leaves socks scattered around the bunker. Dean is being practical. Plus, he wants Jack to have the structured family home that Dean didn’t get a chance to have—hence the allowance.

But he doesn’t feel like explaining himself and he still hasn’t had coffee, so he says, “Yeah, well, we have chores because _you_ clog the shower drain with all your hair.”

Sam snorts at him, “Is that all you’ve got? You used that comeback last week.”

Dean ignores him. His stomach is demanding food through loud gurgling. “I’m gonna make breakfast.” He points at Sam as he walks away. “You go find us an easy hunt to introduce our angelic roommates to.”

He doesn’t notice the way Sam lets out a long breath of relief or the guilty look on his face as he watches his brother walk away.

* * *

Dean’s just getting the first pancake on the skillet when Cas wanders in. Usually, Dean likes to have breakfast done before Cas gets up, but his morning plans ran into a detour, so he is running a little late. At least he got the bacon done and placed on the plates he has set out for each family member. It irks him to be off schedule, but the way Cas’s grumpy morning frown intensifies when he notices there’s no food made, makes up for it. Cas is all grunts and glares in the morning. Dean shoots him a smile that’s supposed to be a good morning. Cas’s frown loosens up a tad, so Dean takes that as his good morning back.

Cas’s hair sticks up in every direction, and the way he runs his hands through it only makes it worse. He wears a loose knitted cardigan in a burnt orange color over a soft looking flannel button up with a pair of matching flannel pants. Cas likes to be warm, Dean had concluded early on, so the matching pj set Dean picked up for him made sense.

Cas yawns and sluggishly makes his way over to the coffee machine. As soon as he pours himself a cup he gulps it down. It makes Dean flinch to watch Cas easily chug down the hot, fresh coffee. It also is very… charming for some reason. Badass, he means. Charming doesn’t make any sense.

Cas pours another cup and makes his way over to the table. He always drinks his second cup more slowly, in long sips that are followed up by a gentle sigh. It distracts Dean for a brief moment and he watches Cas take a couple sips. Dean catches himself staring and prematurely flips the pancake. The batter splatters and it’s no longer perfectly round. Dean decides this pancake is for Sam.

Jack and Sam join them right as Dean finishes plating everything. They all get situated, with Sam next to Jack on one side and Cas seated next to him. “Dean, although I am very thankful that you made us breakfast–”

“Say no more, Jack. It’s not a problem,” Dean interrupts, his mouth full of half-chewed pancake.

Jack pouts and Dean can’t help but laugh. “Dean, my bacon is burned.” Poor kid looks so confused. Dean must be a better cook then he thought if Jack is this torn up about overcooked bacon. It makes Dean feel a little bad.

“Oh, my bad,” he says half-sincere.

Jack eats it anyway. Sam pushes his burned bacon to the side and ignores it. Dean counts it as a win.

“So, get this,” Sam says. Dean’s ears perk up. Sam must have found a case for them. “There’s a museum not too far from here that’s apparently had some ghost-like stuff happening. Like cold spots and people seeing shadows of people that aren’t there. Nothing violent towards anyone, but I but think it might be a good case for Cas and Jack to handle.”

Cas seems to tense next to him. Dean knocks his knee against Cas’s and tries to get his attention by sending Cas a confused look, but Cas ignores him. “It doesn’t sound like much of a case, Sam,” Cas remarks. Dean thinks he sounds a little bit irritated. He hopes Cas isn’t taking it personally; Dean wants to ease them into the hunter’s lifestyle.

Sam sends Dean a glance. _You say something._

“Yeah, well, it might not be anything, but that’s part of the gig, Cas,” Dean tells him and throws him a smile. Cas’s serious demeanor seems to waver slightly, but he still looks unhappy.

“And when has that ever happened to you two?” He stares into Dean’s eyes and tilts his head towards Sam.

To be honest, Dean can’t remember a specific time. “Oh, loads,” he answers and throws his hands up. Cas squints at him.

“Tell them about the other case, Sam. The flower one?” Jack brings up. He has syrup on his chin. The kid likes to drown his pancakes in the sticky stuff until their mush.

“Flower one?” Cas turns his attention to Jack. Dean can’t help but notice how Sam seems to stiffen at Jack’s comment.

Jack nods eagerly. He has the same bright look he gets when Dean lets him help wash the Impala. “Sam let me help find a case,” Jack says with a puffed up chest and a grin. Dean will admit only to himself that it’s endearing. Still, he can’t help but send a miffed look over at Sam. As much as Jack is helpful, Sam had specific instructions about what kind of case to look for. “A man was found dead with flowers in his lungs,” he explains and takes a few his pancakes. “In New Jersey,” he adds.

“Yeah, no,” Dean immediately responds. Jack’s face falls, like Dean took away his all blankets. Cas and Sam both give him small glares like he’s some kind of monster. He swears he’s the only one that ever says no to the kid. “First of all, New Jersey is like a two-day drive–”

“We’ve done worse, Dean,” Sam interjects. Dean ignores him and waves a fork with a piece of pancake on it in dismissal.

“Second, we don’t know what it could be, but I’ll bet my bottom dollar that it’s probably witches. And I’m in too good of a mood to fuck with some witches,” Dean says with conviction in his voice.

Jack somehow manages to look even more rejected, like Dean set his blankets on fire.

“If people are dying, then maybe it is something we should investigate, Dean,” Cas says to him, but he’s looking at Jack with concern. It’s nice to see Cas so caring, even when he’s disagreeing with Dean. His heart jerks in his chest at the sight. Huh, maybe all the bacon grease he’s taken in over the years is really is bad for his heart.

“No,” Dean insists. Great, now Cas is glaring him with squinty eyes, which is how Cas normally looks at him but with +5 irritation points.

Cas frowns at him deeply. “Dean, Jack is far more capable than he was before. We’ll all be there too, in case something happens.” He sips his coffee while still maintaining eye contact with Dean. Cas voice is strong and hard, like maybe he knows that Jack isn’t the only reason that Dean doesn’t want them going, like he’s getting ready to hold up his end of an argument. It’s a complete change from how calm he was just moments ago.

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. Cas’s defensive stance makes Dean want to push. Cas never just listens, he has to go off and do his own thing. Can he do what Dean wants him to for once? “Don’t make me say it, Cas,” he pleads. Something is starting to float around the room in dense, heavy waves. It’s been so long since there was any conflict between anyone in the bunker, that it takes Dean a second to realizes that it’s _tense._

Cas slams his mug down on the table, causing coffee to slosh over the rim and splash against the table top. “Say what, Dean?” Cas’s right eyebrow arches up and he leans closer to Dean. Why is Cas antagonizing him?

“Dude, c’mon,” Dean gestures to Sam and Jack. Sam looks like he wants to run out of the room and Jack seems… amused? Curious, maybe. Dean nods across the table at them. “Let’s not fight in front of the kids, man,” he tries to lighten the mood. It obviously doesn’t work because Cas practically sneers at him.

Dean has to remind himself to keep his harsh words to himself. So he does what he most likely wouldn’t have done a year ago and just says why he doesn’t want Cas and Jack to go on the hunt. Maybe if Cas hears Dean concerns, he’ll see that Dean is only trying to protect him?

“Cas, you’re used to fighting as an angel. You gotta learn the ropes again as a human,” he explains carefully.  

For a moment, Cas looks confused rather than angry. It gives Dean hope that Cas will take it easy and let Dean do what he needs to do to keep him safe. But then that thought is quickly squashed by they way Cas’s scowl returns ten fold. This time he stands up and towers over Dean. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Dean, thank you very much for your… _concerns_ , although they are not warranted,” Cas rebukes him.

Dean stands up suddenly, too, and faces Cas. Dean hates the way they both instantly square up and raise their chins. It’s too reminiscent of times when they’d hurt each other. He glances at Sam and Jack, who are tentatively watching. He hopes one of them will stop wherever this argument is about to go, because Dean already has words bubbled in his throat and written on his tongue. “Warranted! Cas, man, are you sure you aren’t losing your memory in that old ass brain of yours? You just died, Cas. Literally shish kabobed by Satan.” He gets into Cas’s space, something that’s also too familiar. It’s a place he has grown almost fond of, when it’s for companionship and not intimidation like right now.  

Cas doesn’t relent. Of course he doesn’t. Damn angel is too stubborn for his own good. “Oh, I wasn’t aware dying put a standstill on hunting. By that logic, shouldn’t we all just lock ourselves here in the bunker?” He smiles at Dean, a little upward quirk at the corners of his mouth.

“I mean, I have not died, so...” Jack says, but neither Cas nor Dean acknowledges him, both too locked into their aggressive staring.

“Jack,” Dean hears Sam say.

The more Dean stares at the condescending smile, the angrier he gets. He wants to keep himself in check, wants to try explaining and talking through this, but the way Cas is acting is just forcing him into his old habits. “We are not going on that hunt, Cas. I don’t want to see you hurt again.” He tries to sounds demanding, but he knows it comes off as a plea.

Cas’s defensive stance slackens slightly, but his face remains fierce. “Why do you get to decide, Dean? Why does everything have to be run by you? Last time I checked, I can have a choice on things.”

It shocks Dean how hurt he feels by Cas’s dismissal of his attempt at honesty and the way he rubbed Dean wanting to keep his family safe in his face like that. It makes his ribs squeeze hard around his heart. “You’re not going! Okay? Can’t you just let me protect you?” He tries holding onto Cas’s upper arms with his hands, but Cas jerks back. Dean’s heart is constricted again at the movement.

“I’m allowed to decide what I can and can’t handle, Dean,” Cas says in slow precise words. It’s the first thing he’s said in their argument that isn’t condescending. “And I want to go on the hunt.” He relents slightly and steps back into Dean’s space. His eyes soften and Dean’s heart squeezes in a way that doesn’t hurt.  

Dean almost lets Cas win. Some part of him wants to give Cas this. It’s the same part that never wants to say “no” to Cas. The part that lets Cas turn up the heat in the bunker, or lets Cas sit too close on the couch. But the part that stared at Cas’s dead body and watched it burn is still too fresh and new to press down like the other part. He shakes his head back and forth.

“What are you gonna do, Cas?” Dean gargles the next words in his mouth before he spits them out. “Throw me back into hell?” He looks at Cas expectantly. His own mouth forms into a condescending smile.

It’s like watching butter melt away in a hot pan, or a flower wilt under heavy rain, the way Cas deflates. Dean can’t bring himself to fully hate the way Cas’s lips seem to wobble slightly. It’s satisfying in a sadistic way. He’s glad he won, but there’s an ache in his chest.

“Dean!” Sam snaps. It brings Dean back to the room from inside his head. He’d forgotten Sam and Jack were there. Sam’s looking at him with bewilderment and anguish. Jack keeps looking between Cas and Dean, his face sad and confused. Dean had joked about fighting in front of him earlier, but now he realizes that maybe he was hitting too close to a real issue.

Any part of him that feels like this was an accomplishment is squashed by the way Cas is looking at him. Or really, the way Cas is not looking at him. He's kinda staring at Dean’s chest sadly. Dean tries calling after him, but Cas rushes out of the room, his plate left behind.

Jack walks out, too, probably to comfort his dad. But he looks over his shoulder and stares at Dean’s chest, too. “I know you don’t mean it, Dean. But Cas doesn’t. He has no way of knowing, not now,” he says cryptically. Then he adds, “Father just wants to prove himself. He wants to prove that he can protect you as much as you protect him.” He walks away then.

Dean can feel Sam staring at him. “I’ll fix this Sammy. Don’t worry.” When he looks back at Sam, he’s surprised to see him smiling and nodding his head slightly.  

“What is so happy?” Dean asks. There’s sure as shit nothing to be glad about right now.

Sam shakes his head and says nothing. Well, screw him, Dean decides. He’s got an apology he’s got to work up to.

* * *

 

Turns out, Dean learns, it’s kinda difficult to find the right words to say to someone when you kinda just rubbed it in that they’re not an angel anymore. For someone who sure as hell feels guilty about a lot of shit, Dean hasn’t done a lot of apologizing. Who do you even apologize to when you start the apocalypse?

He knows what he should say. _I’m sorry I brought up that fact that you were demoted to human status._ And it would be easy, too. All he has to do is knock on Cas’s door and say it. Cas will see that Dean is being his usual dickish self, and then they’ll have a manly hug and it’ll be all good. Jack will stop moping and sending glares Dean’s way, and Sam will hopefully stop looking at him like he’s some kind of anomaly.

But he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s walked past Cas’s door repeatedly, each time slowing down the closer he gets to the door and then speeding past it at the last second. His stomach is flipping with nerves. He’s not necessarily worried about his ability to verbalize his apology, but rather whether Cas will accept it.

Cas and him have screwed each other over so many times. Dean fears that maybe one day it’ll be too much and there won’t be a way to go back. Dean knows there has to be a limit to how far Cas will let him mess up. How many times can he treat Cas like crap before he grabs Jack and leaves?

The thought of Cas leaving makes him want to barf. The thought of Cas leaving with Jack is just as unpleasant. The kid has grown on him, despite the way Dean treated him previously. What they all have together, although a twisted version of domesticity, is exactly what he was trying for with Lisa.

With the threat of Cas leaving looming over him, he finally stands outside Cas’s door. He’s been here before, although he hasn’t gone in since Cas started permanently living in the bunker. Dean is curious though. Cas and Jack have a habit of buying things online, and Dean doesn’t always get a chance to see what they get.  

He knocks a couple times and calls for Cas. “Cas? It’—uh, it’s me. Dean.” He knows there's a high chance that Cas will probably ignore him, but that thought is quickly dismissed by the shuffling heard inside.

Cas opens the door slightly and stands in the opening. It keeps Dean from getting a chance to peek inside Cas’s room. “You’ve been walking past my room for the last half an hour,” Cas states. Dean almost wants to say that Cas sounds amused by this. Although, Cas looks as aloof as ever, if not a little bored. Dean has always found it interesting to gauge Cas’s reactions. Everything he does now is so much more human than he used to be. Yeah, he often looks like he has a stick up his ass, but at least it’s not a heavenly one.

Dean hunches down a little, which is entirely unnecessary given that Cas isn’t that much shorter than him. He just feels the need to take up the least amount of room possible. There’s not much space between them, not even an arm’s length. Then again, there never really is when they are in the same room.

“Yeah, so,” Dean begins and tries to give his best sincere smile, which is closed mouthed and accented with light dimples. “Can, uh—can we talk?” He looks down the hallway quickly. It will be easier to do this if he doesn’t have to worry about an audience

Cas takes a moment to think about it. He gives a glance at something in his room. He then opens the door wider and retreats inside. Dean follows, taking this as an invitation, and shuts the door softly behind him.

The first thing he notices is the sheer black canopy that hangs from the ceiling above Cas’s bed. The ends are tucked underneath the box spring, holding what seems like an assortment of different fabrics (mostly blankets) on the bed. Dean imagines that without the canopy all the stuff would fall off. The canopy goes around the head and down the sides. The opening is at the end and tied to each side. Inside, there’s a clear intention in the center, a Cas-like shape, Dean assumes.

It’s definitely not what Dean was expecting. Cas has so much stuff around the room, it makes the room somehow smaller than it is. There are unopened packages in the corner stacked on top of each other.  His desk has hand painted looking mugs filled with various pens. He even has a lava lamp. There are various objects placed on shelves that don’t seem to have a real functional purpose, like colorful crystals and jars full of layered sand. There are also other jars placed randomly around the room, each filled with a designated object, like buttons, feathers or rocks. The walls have strings of small lights draped across them, making the room still very dim, but glowing. The candles add to the atmosphere, plus they make the room smell like sugar cookies.

To be honest, he had thought Cas’s room would remain orderly and neat if he ever properly settled into the bunker. Although, he supposes this makes sense too. Dean himself has felt the need to decorate his room, because he’s never really had one. It doesn’t take a lot to assume that Cas is in the same boat. Plus, adding to the fact that Cas probably hasn’t had a chance to pick up any human hobbies, it makes sense that he would collect things just to look at them. Cas does love his watching.

Seeing that Cas has filled the room with so many items that he picked out himself, sets something warm burning in Dean’s chest. It deepens his hope that Cas has decided to stay permanently. Logically, Cas has to be planning to stay if he has his room all spruced up, but there’s still a knot tied in Dean’s stomach that refuses to loosen.

Dean realizes that a few moments of silence have passed while he was eyeing everything in Cas’s room. Cas fidgets slightly and holds on tightly to the bottom of his shirt. He alternates between looking at Dean expectantly and looking around his room. “I really love what you did with the place, Cas.” Dean gestures around the room. “It’s groovy.”

Cas tilts his head and squints. “Really? I was under the impression that people who say “groovy” often mean it ironically,” he says. If this was five years ago, Dean would have been sure Cas was genuinely inquiring about the use of groovy as a description. Dean now knows better; it’s really Cas being a cheeky little shit. He looks more relaxed now. Dean guesses Cas was waiting for Dean to say something about his room.

Dean snorts. “You did good, Cas. Although, we might have to take away your online shopping, like Jack.” Cas looks at him, amused, but in a fond way, not in a “look at this stupid human” way.

The space between them fills with comfortable silence, both still amused by their banter. Dean almost forgets why he’s here until Cas says, “You came to apologize?”

Dean knows his face reddens slightly, but he hopes the room is dim enough that Cas won’t notice. Cas’s lips curl upward slightly, so he must. It makes Dean blush harder. “Uh yeah,” he says articulately, “You know, about earlier? When I was being a dick? Sorry.” It’s not what he wanted to say, and he’s almost ashamed that that’s all he can give to Cas.

Cas raises an eyebrow at him, assessing Dean’s apology. It’s a little demeaning, but he can’t blame Cas. “I accept your apology. I would also like to apologize for being… difficult.”

“It’s all good, Cas.” Dean grins at him and Cas gives one in return.

“Although I still would like to participate in the hunt,” Cas says. Dean’s grin falls.

Dean rubs a hand over his face in frustration. Since when could he ever make Cas do anything? “Fine. But we’re gonna have to compromise. You can be there for the investigation part, but as soon as we go to gank whatever it turns out to be, you gotta hang back, understood?”

For a moment, it looks like Cas is going to argue some more, but instead, he gives a single nod. Dean sure as shit doesn’t think Cas is gonna keep his side of the bargain, but the way Cas looks so pleased to be going makes up for the suspicion.  

* * *

 

They arrive in New Jersey two days later. The car ride has left Castiel tired and vaguely irritated. Dean had been on an AC/DC kick, and insisted that they spend the whole last day driving listening to the band. Which wouldn’t be so much of a problem if Dean hadn’t also decided that they would be listening to the same ten songs by AC/DC. Even Jack, who had a penchant to not want to hurt anyone's feelings, asked for different music. His plea went ignored.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to say anything either. As much as he wanted to go on this hunt, he feels that he had pushed Dean too far. Castiel often feels that he needs to keep himself in check whenever Dean is involved. It’s like walking on thin ice. He fears that if he asks too much from Dean, it will somehow bring up Castiel’s feelings—it has become very apparent from Dean’s silence on the subject, that it should not be discussed.

Then again, he keeps wanting to push, to press on, to see how much he can get out of Dean. It makes him guilty and disgusted with himself. But seeing how desperate Dean was to protect him only amplified his feelings for him. Seeing Dean care so much for his safety only made him want to argue more.

Plus, he very much doesn’t like being told what to do, even by Dean.

They pull up to the first motel they come across that looks habitable enough for standards. It’s a yellow color that matches the dry, dead grass that grows in patches of the lawn. But the sign doesn’t have any letters that are flickering in and out, so that’s good enough.

“Can I pay for the rooms?” Jack asks eagerly. Castiel supposes it’s not too surprising that Jack seems so excited to do a basic task. He has the habit of wanting to please people. In the back of Castiel’s mind, he wonders where he might have picked up that trait. Still, he has a look on his face that doesn’t really looks like his eager to please face, but rather like he knows something they don’t. He dares say that Jack looks… mischievous?

“Yeah, sure,” Dean responds. He opens a wallet filled with various cards and says a quick eenie-meenie-minie-moe to himself before pulling one out and handing it to Jack. Jack turns and practically skips away from them.

“Weirdo,” Dean says before he starts unloading their bags.

Jack returns with their usual two keys, one in each fist and a wide grin on his face. What is unusual is how he keeps a pair for himself _and_ hands one to Castiel. Castiel had assumed that Jack and him would be sharing a room. He has no objection to sharing a room with Dean. It’s just always seemed like an unwritten rule that Sam and Dean would share a room. As an angel, Castiel had either flown away while the brothers slept or hung out in their room contemplating the universe.

It also surprises him that Dean doesn’t even mention the strangeness of it. He just pats Castiel on the shoulder firmly and leads the way to their room. _Their room._ Castiel likes the connotation that it’s something they share, somewhere for them.

He knows Dean's sleeping habits from observing him as an angel, but wonders if it will feel any different to him now that he's human.Would he take all the blankets? Castiel has many of them, of course; it wouldn’t be a problem. And now he’s thinking about Dean in _his_ bed. He had barely been able to handle Dean in his room. Castiel had been oddly nervous about letting Dean see it.

Castiel has also observed Dean gripping a pillow to his chest and throwing his leg over another. It’s obvious that he likes to hold things close when he sleeps.

He needs to stop thinking about sharing a bed with Dean before his face flushes completely red.

Their room smells overly musty, and everything is a shade of brown. The carpet is longer than necessary but is void of stains. It’s decent given Castiel’s knowledge of the types of places the Winchesters usually stay. There’s also only one bed.

“Cas, we have a problem,” Dean says once the door closes behind them. He throws his bag on the right side of the bed and sits down.

Castiel eyes the bed. It’s a big bed; both of them would fit fine. Unless Dean doesn’t want to share at all. Cas frowns down at the carpet that could be described as furry. He does not want to sleep on that.

“Is it really a problem?” Cas frowns. He’s absolutely not sleeping on the floor and is fully prepared to fight Dean about it.

Dean purses his lips in discontent and nods. “Yeah. Sam and Jack are being all sneaky. Tried telling me that they were having ‘the talk.’ I could practically taste the bullshit.” He starts pulling off his shoes and socks. “I can’t believe they would lie to me. Lie right to my face, Cas. Even after I–” He looks distraught now and hurt.

Well, this is not what Castiel thought this conversation was going to be about.

“Jack lied?” he asks. He didn’t even think Jack was capable of malicious intent. It’s apparently not the right thing to say, because Dean looks even more displeased.

“That’s not what I’m getting at. The point is that they were being all sneaky and then acted like they didn’t know shit.” Dean starts digging through his bag and pulling out is dental hygiene supplies and pajamas. He still hasn’t said anything about the bed situation. “Then Sam said it was because Jack wanted to go on a hunt, which I believed till about five minutes ago. Jack seemed awfully eager to get Sam alone.”

Dean is rambling now and waving his toothbrush. “I swear if whatever they’re doing ends up blowing up in our faces, I’m gonna lose it.” He points the toothbrush at Cas. “I’m gonna lose it, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas says to him calmly. He’s still awkwardly standing by the door because of the bed issue that Dean won’t address. “I’ll talk to Jack, Dean. It’s probably a misunderstanding. Where am I sleeping?”

Dean looks confused and uses his arm to indicate the empty side of the bed. “Dude, I know I put on some weight, but I don’t take up that much space.” He then makes his way past Castiel and into the bathroom. He still seems tense about whatever is going on with Sam and Jack.

Castiel hasn’t noticed anything really suspicious about them. Sam and Jack had a bond before Castiel returned from the dead, so it’s perfectly understandable that it would continue. Although, Jack did seem a little too eager to get a room with Sam, leaving Dean and him to share.

It’s a like a spark ignites, and Castiel suddenly realizes that must be what Jack wants. He’s trying to get Dean and Castiel alone. Even the one bed makes sense. Jack had been so torn up about Dean not returning Castiel’s feeling, this must be his way of trying to make something happen.

It’s endearing in a way that didn’t make sense. Then again, this plan didn’t make much sense either. Dean and him would what? Share a bed, and then suddenly Dean would love him? What exactly did Jack think would happen? Was Sam in on it? Sam was there when he’d confessed, so he knew. The idea of them both wanting Castiel to be happy was heartwarming, but it is still unnerving that they expect Dean to return his affection. Castiel is just human enough to know that things don’t work that way.

He eyes the bed again and slowly makes his way around to the side Dean didn’t claim. It’s nothing like what he has back at the bunker, but it’s a horizontal surface that will get the job done. He quickly changes into his own pajama set, which consists of a loose long sleeve shirt and his plushest sleeping pants. He slips underneath the covers and burrows in. The bed smells nothing like the fabric softener that Dean uses

Dean eventually returns from the bathroom with a plain tee and worn, baggy sweatpants. He switches off the lights and practically throws himself on the bed. He then wiggles around and pulls the blanket out from under him and pulls it over himself. Castiel can’t help but be amused as Dean snuggles in to make himself comfortable.

He tries to lay on his back at first, but it’s too uncomfortable. Curse this human body and its need for comfort. He makes the conscious decision to turn on his side, and because he has no control, he turns inward, towards Dean. His body is relaxed now, but his mind can’t get over the fact he is in bed with Dean.

The room is dark, but the cheap curtains are too thin to prevent the outside light from seeping into the room. He can clearly make out Dean laying on his stomach, his face towards Castiel. His eyes are half-lidded and he yawns.

Castiel can’t bring himself to shut his eyes and will himself to sleep, not with the way Dean’s looking at him right now. “Are you okay?” Dean asks in a sleepy voice. Castiel doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know what Dean is referring too. “With sharing a bed, I mean. I didn’t even check with you. This room must have been all that was left, but I can call the front to see if they have a cot or something I can move to.” He blinks sluggishly and his eyes open wider.

Castiel can feel his chest squeeze. Here’s the man he cherishes so much, so tired and half asleep, willing to postpone his sleep to ensure Castiel is okay.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel answers in a hush. “As long as you don’t have any qualms with us sharing?” Despite the evidence that Dean is okay with them sleeping next to each other, Castiel can’t help but feel awkward. Dean had a tendency to put aside his own discomfort for the sake of others. Castiel often worries that his feelings for Dean will create a riff between them, although Dean never acted any differently towards him after his confession in the barn.

Dean’s eyes are closed now, and his breath is slower. “Naw, man. Just don’t hog the covers,” he says in a tired slur. Castiel falls asleep right after Dean begins snoring softly.

♦

They stop at a local diner for breakfast the next morning after showering and suiting up in their best FBI attire, except Jack, who is dressed casually. It’s not very crowded, just an elderly couple on the other side of the diner and a man at the counter sipping on a mug of coffee. There aren’t enough details to make it different from any other diner they’ve been to, Jack thinks. The booth has the same seats he’s seen at other diners and is still too small for four adult males.

Jack sits next to the window looking over the vacant parking lot. Castiel slides in next to him and sends him a concerned glance. Jack knows how grumpy he’s been acting. He’d taken one look at Dean and Castiel and been immediately disappointed There had been no immediate change in their relationship. He had been sure making them share a bed would somehow stir up feelings. It had seemed like a very romantic situation. He’ll have to up with something else.

The waitress comes over eventually. The flower in her hair is a vibrant yellow and orange, but it’s droopy. Her eyeliner is sharp but smudged slightly. She has lightness around her and a bright smile that’s too wide and forced. Jack doesn’t write her off for it. In fact, he appreciates that she’s still making an effort to appear happy given how tired she appears.

“Hi, my name’s Sabrina, and I’ll be your waitress,” she greets them pleasantly.

Despite his first impression of her, Jack becomes immediately irritated with her when she crowds closer to Dean and leans over further than necessary to point out something on the menu to him. Dean gives her a charming smirk while she invades his space. Jack feels Castiel stiffen next to him and senses how uncomfortable he’s feeling. He knows it’s not her fault for making a pass at Dean. But it still doesn’t stop him from grinding his teeth.

Sam sends him a worried look and then gives Castiel one of pity. This lady was really messing things up.

Jack frowns at the waitress while she continues to ignore the rest of the group as she tells Dean he’ll just love to try their apple pie.

“Can I get the chicken tender meal, please?” Jack says a little too loudly. The waitress, Sabrina, gives him a quick glance and a friendly smile. She writes it down in her in little notepad. Jack must have made her remember what she was here for because she takes the rest of their orders.

“What brings you boys into town?” Sabrina asks after giving everyone a once over. She must have finally noticed their professional attire.

Jack speaks before Dean can open his mouth, “We’re here on an investigation,” he tells her. He nudges Castiel and gestures towards Dean. He makes sure to leave Sam out of his introduction. “They’re _partners_ ,” Jack emphasizes in a way that he hopes conveys more than the words by themself can. He hopes it heavily implies that they are romantic partners. Dean quickly snaps his head toward Jack and frowns at him. Good, so it did sound the way he hoped it would.

Sabrina looks taken back for a second and glances between Dean and Castiel. She looks confused at first and a little guilty. Jack feels slightly guilty too, but he’s doing this for the sake of his family. Dean’s face is flushed, but he can’t get a word in before the waitress speaks again.

“Oh, so are y'all here for Blake?” she asks slowly in a hushed voice, probably to not disturb the other patrons. She fiddles with the flower in her hair and tilts her head. She looks both curious and sad.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam speaks up. “Blake Dolin? Did you know him?”                     

Sabrina nods. “Yeah, went to school with him. Part of the popular clique, ya know? Kinda the whole all-American guy. Athlete, even married his high school sweetheart. Shame they divorced, though.”

“Was he acting out the ordinary before he died?”

Sabrina moves her head back and forth slightly in thought, as if she can shake herself into remembering. “Nope,” she finally responds with a pop.

Sam thanks her and she turns to leave, but a half a step later, she turns back around. She lays her eyes on Castiel this time, and for a brief moment, Jack thinks that she might make a move on him. “I think it’s cute you guys are married FBI agents and take your boy on trips with you. It’s like a love story,” she smiles at Jack, which he smugly returns.

Dean, somehow, turns impossibly redder.

* * *

Jack ends up paired with Dean. It had surprised him when Dean said that Jack would be riding with him to interview the victim’s friends, while Castiel and Sam go to check out the body. It had confused him, because Jack is still learning how to act properly around other people, let alone grieving people. Also, he was under the impression that he is not Dean’s favorite person, although Dean has been substantially more pleasant since Castiel’s return.  

Jack had ultimately been hoping that Dean and Castiel would pair off and get some time alone together. Even though having them share a room hadn’t resulted in anything, Jack had hoped that putting them in a situation where they had to work together might spark something.

Still, he is happy to get a chance to partner up with Dean. Aside from his goal of getting Castiel and Dean to develop a mutually romantic relationship, he still has the goal of becoming a good hunter, just like the Winchesters. Spending time with Dean is a surefire way to observe how to handle someone who is grieving. Jack is practically learning from a master.

However, once they’re alone in the car together, Jack notices that Dean is tense. He’s gripping the steering wheel and has a perpetual frown on his face. At first, Jack thinks that Dean is upset about the waitress thing. He begins to worry that Dean has his plan figured out and will go back to being angry with him. The thought makes his chest ache and palms sweaty.

He watches Dean tentatively. The man keeps opening and closing his mouth, the words never quite coming out. “Jack,” he finally says, “I need you, to be honest with me, okay? I was gonna have Cas talk to you, but I think… I think the right thing to do is talk to you myself.”

Jack can’t help but feel jittery. If Cas was going to talk to him about whatever this was, then it might mean that Dean and Castiel know what Jack and Sam are trying (and failing) to do. He’s embarrassed to be caught and suddenly feels the urge to fly away. Maybe he can hide at the motel and munch on numerous nougat bars until he can think of the right words to say.

Dean’s alternating between watching the road and glancing at Jack. “I know you and Sam are hiding some shit, okay? I know I’m not the smartest out of the grown-ups that are raising you, but, man, all I’m asking for is some honesty.” He sounds so strong despite the plea in his voice.

Jack almost wants to give up then and tell Dean. Tell him that Castiel is in love with him and Sam and Jack have been trying to get Dean to realize his feelings. Then again, he’d promised Castiel he wouldn't say anything. But he also basically promised Dean that he would try to be honest. Jack feels so torn. He wants to be honest with Dean but be loyal to Castiel at the same time.

So he chooses to be honest about something else.

“Sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to use my powers for good and I find that Sam is the easiest to talk about it with,” he tells Dean. It’s not a lie; it’s just not the truth Dean was seeking. It doesn’t relieve any of the guilt he’s feeling right now, but it does unravel a knot that he didn’t know was tied inside him.

“Why didn’t you guys just say so?” Dean asks. He doesn’t sound accusatory, but rather like he’s genuinely curious.  

Jack gargles the next words in his mouth, not quite sure if they’ll be phrased right. “I get scared to tell you some things, because I’m afraid you’ll get mad at me.”

Dean doesn’t say anything and Jack immediately wants to swallow the words. They ride the rest of the way in a silence that is overwhelming and heavy. Jack doesn’t understand why humans seek honesty and truthfulness. It seems like it only brings awkwardness and hurt feelings. It’s like he can’t win. If you lie, it’ll make things bad, and if you tell the truth, you potentially damage relationships. What’s the pay off exactly?

They pull up to a single-story house with a long walkway before Jack can decide if jumping out of the car is a proper exit from this conversation. Dean turns the Impala off but makes no move to leave the vehicle. Jack stares straight ahead but takes note of how Dean turns towards him in his peripheral vision.

“Jack,” he says in a strained voice. Jack turns his head towards him, but avoids eye contact. “I’m sorry. For treating you like crap.”

Jack jumps slightly at the words, like they had physically hit him. He’s never expected Dean to apologize to him. He’d anticipated that there was going to be a time when Dean didn’t like him at all, and now they live in a time where they are comfortable around each other, where they are family. Jack never sought out an apology, because he never thought one was needed. In fact, he doesn’t want to hear it. It only feeds into his guilt.

“Dean, you don’t–” he tries. Dean had already apologized before; it’s Jack’s fault he’s struggling.

“No, Jack, I do,” Dean continues. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me being angry with you, okay? Do you understand? We’re all raising you, and I’m sure as hell—I’m not gonna… make you feel like you gotta watch yourself around me, okay? ‘Cause that’s not how you should raise a kid.” Jack feels the words sink into his bones. It almost makes him want to cry. As much as he didn’t want the apology, it still makes him happy.

“Okay,” Jack replies. He doesn’t think he needs to say any more on the topic.

Dean nods and looks at the house they’re about to go into. He jerks his thumb at it and says, “Let’s this show on the road then,” with a little too much cheer. Jack thinks he’s trying to brighten the mood after this anxiety-inducing conversation. It works slightly and Jack is thankful for it.

Jack lets Dean take the lead. He can’t help but notice the state of the yard. The flower beds under the windows are brown dry, and the grass is long and dead. It sticks out from the properties on either side, which both seem well maintained.

Dean knocks on the door and a second passes before a woman opens the door. She’s taller than average, with brown hair in a loose ponytail that looks ready to come completely undone. Despite her height, she’s still hunched forward slightly. “Hello?” she greets. Her voice cracks. Jack realizes she’s been crying.

Dean smiles brightly and Jack does his best to looks friendly with his own little smile and a soft wave of his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Dolin? I’m Agent Morse, and this my trainee Mr. Lyle. We’re here concerning the death of Blake Dolin.” He flashes his badge for her.

“Nora is fine.” The woman squints at Jack. “He looks a little young to be a trainee of anything,” she says more to Dean than to both of them. Jack finds it a little rude. As much as everyone else wants to call him a kid, he likes to think he can pass as a young adult.

“Yeah, they start ‘em younger every year, I swear,” Dean tells her like he’s irritated. He’s very convincing. “You mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Nora hesitates. “I have some friends over if that’s okay?” She looks over her shoulder and then back at Dean.

He nods and thanks her as they both walk through the door into the living room. It’s spacious, with two long couches and a big TV. On one couch, a couple around Nora’s age sits huddled together with their hands clasped.

“This is Agent Morse and Mr. Lyle. They’re with the FBI,” Nora introduces them. “This is Jason and Madison.”

Dean nods at both of them and Jack mimics him. They both take a seat opposite the couple. Nora sits with her friends and Madison take her hand. “What does the FBI want with Blake?” Madison asks harshly. Jack notices right away that she is taking charge of her group of friends.  

“Blake’s death has been ruled as suspicious due to… it’s bizarre circumstances. Was he acting weird leading up to his death?” Dean asks. His voice is soft and understanding.

However, Madison doesn’t seem to be buying it. “What do you mean suspicious? He got sick and died. That’s what happened,” she says loudly and leans forward. Nora flinches at her words and Jason tries to reel her in. “Shit happens,” her voice cracks and her husband strokes her hair. Jack feels bad for her. It’s clear that she’s trying to be the strongest for her friends, but is breaking.

Dean lets a moment of silence pass before he asks another question. All they knew going into this hunt was that a man was found dead in his home with his lungs full of flowers. From Madison’s questioning, it sounds like she didn’t know that.

“You don’t know how he died,” Jack realizes. Dean flinches beside him. It occurs to Jack that maybe he should have tried to sound more sympathetic.

Madison jerks her head towards Nora, who has moved herself from the group and is leaning against the armrest of the couch. Jack can only assume that she must not have told her friends the finer details about Blake’s passing.

“You said he was sick–”

“He was!” Nora wails. She’s crying and huddling in on herself while Madison towers over her. Jason pulls her back and sits in between the two crying women. Nora tries to defend herself through tears. “I thought it was because he was quitting smoking! You weren’t there! You don’t _know_ what I had to help him go through!”

“Then tell us, Nora,” Jason tells her sternly.

Nora looks at Dean with a flushed face. “No one will believe me,” she says in a strained voice.

If Jack didn’t know any better, he would swear that, by the way Dean’s eyes light up, he’s pleased by Nora’s response.

“Let’s start with some basic questions, alright?” Dean begins. “Why’d you two divorce?”

“Oh! So you think—I’m a _suspect_ now?” Nora seems more exasperated now about the idea of being accused of Blake’s death.

“I don’t think anything, Ma’am,” Dean cuts in. He taps his pen against his notepad. “I just have to make sure that all the bases are covered before we conclude anything.”

Nora sinks into the couch. “We just were better as friends,” she says while staring at the blank TV. Jack imagines that it might be awkward for her to describe her separation from Blake. It’s sure making Jack feel that way. “It was kinda like getting married was the next step for us. I don’t think we really thought about what it meant till we did it.” Some more tears fall down her cheeks and Jack has to look away. “It’s like—like we did because we had to, not ‘cause we wanted to. I loved him—I really did, but not like a wife should. So we called it off, but we both had our lives wrapped around this house, so we decided to stay roommates.” Jason reaches out to hold her hand.

Dean nods, like he understands personally. Jack doesn’t know enough about Dean to think otherwise.

“You said he had gotten sick? Could you elaborate?”

Nora flinches again and he lips tremble. “He was—he was coughing up flowers. Petals mostly, at first, at least. I told him he needed help, but he didn’t want any. I should have—I found him, with a flower in his throat, and he was dead. I-I didn’t know how–”

Madison stands up abruptly then, disgust written on her face. “I can’t do this,” she walks swiftly out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Jason hesitates, but follows her out. Nora sits there alone and shaking. She stares at the front door sullenly.

“We believe you, Nora,” Dean comforts her. He gives her a few moments to gather herself before he asks her when Blake first started showing symptoms.

“I don’t know. He had been looking rough for about a month, but I didn’t notice the… _petals_ until a couple weeks ago. At first, I thought he was just sad about his break up. It was messy.” She practically pulls her gaze away from the door. Jack wishes he could comfort her. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to have your friends leave you in a time of need.

“Messy?” Dean prompts.

Nora glances back at the door. Jack can’t tell what kind of expression plays over her face, but he knows it’s in the realm of sadness. She looks at Dean, biting her lip. “Blake was bisexual,” she starts, “Luke was his first boyfriend, but it, uh—Luke broke up with him because he thought Blake was in love with someone else.”

“Was he?”

Nora glances at the door again. “Yes,” is all she says. Jack waits for her to elaborate, or at least for Dean to ask more about the subject.

Nora continues to fidget and glance at the door.

“Nora, I’m gonna need you tell me who,” Dean presses.

The grieving woman shakes her head, causing her already loose hair to completely fall apart. “He wouldn’t—it’s not my secret to tell. It doesn’t matter, he would never do anything to hurt Blake.”

“It’s not about if the person wanted to hurt Blake, Nora. We have to be open to the possibility that whoever did this might want to hurt other people,” Dean explains gently.

“You think someone did this to Blake?” Nora asks. _Or something_ , Jack thinks to himself.

Dean shrugs. “We have to know everything before we can conclude anything.”

Nora presses her lips together as a fresh tear falls down her face. “Jason,” she says in a gasp, like the name had burst out her.

She resumes her heavy sobs, her shoulder shaking. Jack immediately decides this is the worst part of hunting. Killing monsters doesn’t seem so bad compared to having to watch a woman fall apart emotionally. He wants the questions to end and to leave.

“I think that’ll be all,” Dean says and stands up, and Jack follows suit, maybe quicker than necessary. Jack’s glad, both for Nora’s sake and his own. “Thanks for your time, Nora. We’ll try to get to the bottom of this.” Nora walks them to the door silently. Dean walks down the pathway first, but Jack hangs back and turns to Nora.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he tells her. It’s a selfish act, he feels. He knows his words won’t do anything for this grieving women, but it does relieve something in himself. He tells her, because he truly is. It’s a weird feeling to feel so bad for someone and have them not care.

“Thank you,” she says, but her words are empty.

Jack fiddles with his hands and juts one out. He wants to hug this woman and tell her that life can still be good after the death of a loved one. It’s not appropriate, he imagines. But, oh, he wishes he could do _something_. He’s supposed to be some ultimate powerful being and he can’t help one woman with her grief. It’s frustrating and he finally understands why the Winchesters hold so much pride in what they do.

Nora grabs his hand weakly. It’s enough for Jack to feel her sorrow in her soul. It’s murky and shallow. He curiously offers the tiniest bit of grace he can offer. Her soul eats it up greedily, but Jack can see a little bit of light underneath the foggy of her sadness. It’s enough to help her carry on, he hopes, but not enough to make her forget her loss.

He gives Nora a confident nod that she is probably confused by and walks away. His eyes are damp. He can’t tell whether that’s from his sadness or hers.

The ride is void of any chatter, just the sounds of Dean’s music, for which Jack is grateful for. He likes to think Dean’s giving him a moment to collect his thoughts.

The interview had put some things into perspective. One is that everyone grieves differently. Nora let her emotions loose and let them out physically. Jason was silent, strong-willed like his wife, but probably holding his emotions in. Madison was more rash and angry. She reminded Jack of Dean, almost. As much as it was a learning experience, Jack still wishes he never had to witness this much sorrow.

The second thing he’d realized was that he never wanted Castiel and Dean to be together more than he did in this moment. Seeing Nora weep for a lost love one and knowing Blake died with a longing heart hits a little too close to the predicament with Dean and Castiel.

“You alright, bud?” Dean asks after he turns down the music.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat and responds with, “No.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, interviewing can be tough, but you learn to grow a thick skin.” Jack doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. Maybe Dean notices Jack’s last of enthusiasm, because he continues, “Uh, I mean, you get used to it—or not “used” to it, I should say—but you learn when to expect it and eventually how to handle it.”

“How do you handle it?”

Dean thrums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, usually with a bottle of whatever alcohol I find first, but uh… sometimes I like to take a step back and think about all the good we’re doing, you know? Yeah, at the end of they day it’s us who have to deal with whatever is tormenting the town,” he glances at Jack and throws him a smile that Jack gladly returns.

“Anyway! Pop Quiz. Who do you think did it?” Dean asks eagerly.

Jack hums. “Who? You think it was a person?” Jack had assumed that they would have to find a lot more clues before they could conclude anything.

“I’m gonna go with my gut here, Jack-o, and say it’s gonna be witches. And since it seems like a complicated love triangle was happening, I’m thinkin’ it's personal.”

Jack doesn’t like the idea of jumping to conclusions. “Maybe we should see what Sam and Father have found out before we guess anything.”

“I think that Luke guy is playing up the scorned lover angle,” Dean continues with a confident grin on his face. However, it falls after a moment. “Has, uh, anyone talked to you about the…” he takes one hand off the wheel to gesture, “about the dudes dating dudes thing?”

“Are you talking about homosexuality?” Jack chirps, happy to show that he knows a social fact. Dean gives a jerky nod. “Sam explained to me all the different sexualities and genders, and Father told me about how in nature, lions–”

“Cool, so you know,” Dean interrupts.

“Does talking about homosexuality make you uncomfortable, Dean?” Jack inquires. This conversation has suddenly become very important.

“No,” is all Dean says. Jack wishes to pry more, but he wants to test something.

He casually says, “Good, because otherwise, that make things potentially awkward.”

Dean jumps and looks at Jack with his eyebrows raised, “Jack, are you...” he trails off.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack says with shrug. He honestly doesn’t, and that’s not the point of this conversation. “It’s just that Father has mentioned he wouldn’t be opposed to having a relationship with someone of the same gender. It would put a strain on your current relationship if you weren’t comfortable with it.” It’s true; Castiel has mentioned this to him. “He said gender never mattered to him, because he’s never really been male himself.”  

Jack watches Dean’s reaction. First, he gulps like the air in the Impala has suddenly become too thick. Then a blush forms from the tip of his ears to his cheeks. “Cool, cool,” he croaks. Jack’s not positive that it’s a good reaction, but Dean’s not freaking out, so that’s a plus. He seems embarrassed mostly, which if Jack is correct about Dean’s feelings for Castiel, might be a good thing.  

Jack hums in response and the conversation in the car fades out. It’s comfortable, which Jack finds pleasant. It’s probably one of the first times he and Dean have felt okay being alone together without being on edge. The world seems brighter as Jack stares absentmindedly out the window. Despite the interview being very depressing, he feels like he got somewhere with Dean, both in his own relationship with Dean, and Dean’s with Castiel.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “Cas!” Castiel hears less than a second after his head smacks against the concrete. His grip becomes slack on the angel blade and it tumbles out of his hand. He’s sure it was Dean who called his name, but between his blurring sight and the radiating pain in his head, he doesn’t think he can trust his senses. He tries to open his mouth to tell Dean he’s fine, even though the taste of blood in his mouth proves otherwise.  _

_ In hindsight, they should have taken into account that a witch who curses people with plants most likely  _ can control plants _.  _

* * *

 

_ Earlier _

Dean will later justify this case being a disaster as due to none of them having been hunting in a while—even though he has gone a lot longer between cases. Sam will say it might be their old age, which Castiel will agree to more. He is  _ very _ old, and every day finds himself being so  _ done _ with all these humans. Music is too loud, it’s never warm enough, and people put curses on others just for fun. Next time Dean calls him an old man, Castiel will gladly agree. 

Everything about this hunt is awful, but he’ll bite his tongue and refuse to say anything because he chose this. Then again, choosing between what seems right and what actually is isn’t exactly his forte. He doesn’t want to admit that he regrets his decision, but a part of him does. First, Jack is most likely developing some ploy to get Dean and him to form a romantic relationship, and now Jack’s alone with Dean. He trusts Jack to keep his secret, but that doesn’t mean he won’t say something he’s not supposed to. Second, he has just realized that being an angel might have dulled his senses a bit when it came to gore. 

As an angel, the sight of grotesque dead bodies was still disturbing, of course. As a human, he almost couldn’t stomach it at first glance. The coroner had presented them with the deceased body of Blake Dolin, a young man with stark, dark hair and thin lips. He’s too young, which already makes Castiel’s heart squeeze. His chest is opened with the ribs spread to expose his cavity. One lung sits nestled in its natural place, while its partner is in a container on the table next to them. Both are a dull pink with tiny flowering vines weaving in and out of the tissue. The coroner had said that the flowers have continued to grow, and the same flowers are lodged in his throat. In the container, the lung has been dissected to show roots that grow out along the veins. 

The flowers are a mix of small yellow puffy blossoms and yellow tulips, some of which have yet to bloom. 

Castiel feels bile rise in the back of his mouth. He had been thankful that he and Sam were the ones going to check out the body—he never dealt with grief well, let alone another person’s—ow, he’s not so sure. He lets Sam poke around the body while he snaps pictures of the belongings that were found on Blake when his body was discovered, which consist of receipts, keys, a phone, and gum wrappers. He does the body last, while Sam wraps things up with the coroner. 

Seconds before they leave, the assistant rolls in another body with a sheet on top. The coroner pulls it back to reveal a woman. She is older then Blake, maybe by a decade or so. Her hair is in tight copper curls and there are a few wrinkles on her face from smiling too much. Her mouth protrudes slightly and her lips are barely opened enough to reveal a few white and red petals. 

Sam frowns deeply in displeasure and Castiel can’t help but feel the same. They hadn’t been able to prevent another death. The feeling of personal failure creeps up his spine. They get to work again, and this time Castiel feels more determined. The sheriff lets them take whatever they need, including evidence like the lady’s purse and other bagged items. Castiel’s sure that there must be some rule against it, but the sheriff seems eager to have whatever is happening in his town to come to a resolution. 

The woman’s name was Corrine. She was thirty-seven years old and worked as a teller for a bank. She has no living relatives, and not many friends. The one coworker they interview says she hadn’t been looking well for the past week. 

After they regroup at the hotel, they share information and begin sorting through evidence. It only takes a quick internet search to reveal that she worked at the same place as a man named Luke Parsen, who Dean is adamant must be their guy. He’d apparently had a relationship with the first victim, so he has a clear connection to both cases. 

Sam isn’t so convinced, and despite the charming, confident smile Dean gives after explaining why Parsen was a witch casting spells on people, even Castiel isn’t so sure. They still have no proof that they are looking for a witch in the first place, let alone that a spell was the cause of the deaths. 

The first thing they have to get out the way id how exactly the victims had died. Both had flowers grown into their lungs and throat. Blake had died because the roots had taken over his lungs, making him unable to breathe. Corrine had died because she choked on a flower a week faster than Blake. Blake was described as being sick weeks before his death, as was Corine by her co-workers. Whatever had happened to them was gradual, and seemingly random, because the flowers are all different. 

At least they are, physically. Symbolically, they carry a theme. The yellow puffs found in Blake are from a shrub and signify secret love and friendship. The tulips are hopeless love. The petals in Corrine’s mouth are striped carnations and represent rejected love. 

It is clear to Castiel that they fall under the theme of unrequited love. When he announces this, the rest agree, although they are shocked that he was able to piece it together. He supposes he has may have some insight that helped him reach this conclusion. He worries at first that he may have given himself away, but they quickly move on to the case. Jack gives him a sad look that he pretends not to see. 

With the small amount of evidence they do have, they come up with a possible cause. “Hanahaki,” Sam says slowly, trying to pronounce the word correctly. He squints at his laptop 

“Is that the thing we gotta gank?” Dean asks while tapping on his phone. From his furrowed brow and pursed lips, Castiel guesses it’s his mother. If they are arguing, they text; when they’re chatting, they call. It still makes Castiel happy that Dean’s making an effort with his mom. Dean tends to be a little happier when things with Mary are good. He makes a note to ask about her later. 

“No, it’s, uh, a disease. It’s a lovesickness curse,” Sam explains with a huff. He side eyes Dean, who looks very eager. He tells them that the flowers feed on unrequited love and slowly kill their victims by growing into their lungs. It can be cured if the infected person learns that their feelings are returned. “So, yeah, I guess we are looking for a witch.” 

Dean laughs sharply. “I fucking  _ told  _ you,” he says smugly. 

Dean is very adamant that this has to mean that Parsen is their guy. His argument is that Parsen was bitter about Blake’s thing for his best friend, so he must have cursed him. Hearing that makes Castiel feel all more remorse for the man’s death. He’s was quick to point out that it still doesn’t explain Corrine. She’d worked with Luke, but there is no proof she had any kind of relationship with him that extended beyond work. 

Sam goes on to explain that the curse can be broken by killing the caster. This will be good if there were any victims they don’t know about. They just need to find out  _ who  _ placed the curse. As much as Dean is adamant it was Luke, Castiel still isn’t sure. Something is telling him otherwise. Maybe it’s his  _ gut feeling _ , as Dean would put it. Ironically, it is telling him that Dean’s gut feeling about Luke is wrong. 

Dean will later claim that he was least 80% right, having deduced that it was a witch. Castiel doesn’t think that how percentages work, and given that he pieces together who the witch is, he’s willing to say it was a team effort. 

The clue turns out to be the receipts that both victims had on them. Corrine had two scrunched up in her purse, while Blake was found with one on him. Both from the restaurant they visited for breakfast, and both with a symbol written in purple ink on the back. It’s flower, of course, but each petal a different twisted mark. Part of Castiel is ashamed that he couldn’t tell exactly what it meant, but he is  _ very old _ and modern supernatural stuff is always coming up with new ways to make things more complicated. The other part is pleased to point out that all the receipts have, in very neat, typed print, “Your server today was Sabrina”—the very same waitress they had that morning. 

Dean pulls the crumpled receipt out of his pocket to check if they’ve been tagged. For half a second, Castiel hoped that Sabrina didn’t know about his feelings. Luckily, the back was blank. 

Some quick digging reveals that Sabrina had worked as a florist a couple towns over. Photos online show her with various flowers and plants. Even when they’d met her, she’d had a flower in her hair. She’d even admitted that Blake had been at the restaurant, and it’s easy to assume that Corrine could have been there too at one point. 

So they wait until night and all pile into the Impala. Dean gives Castiel very stern instructions to stay in the car. And he does genuinely plan on staying put, like he promised Dean. However, sitting in the car and watching two of the most important people in his life break into the home of a dangerous witch brings up the same feelings of uselessness that he’s been trying so hard to get away from. He has an angel blade up his sleeve to protect him and Jack, but that doesn’t fulfill his need to be with the Winchesters. 

The house is one story, with a big window that has a planter filled with tall purple flowers. The yard is impeccable, perfectly green and even, and not a leaf out of place. To anyone else, it would have looked like the owner took extra care in their yard work, but Castiel doesn’t doubt it has something to do with magic. 

Five minutes later, a gunshot causes both him and Jack to jump. Jack grabs onto his sleeve and Castiel tries his best to not look as worried as he feels, for Jack’s sake. There is another bang, followed by a yell that sounds like Sam. 

Castiel reaches out for the door handle and turns to Jack. “Stay here,” he commands as he opens the door and makes his way to the house. 

“Dad!” he hears Jack call after him. It makes him want to turn back briefly. But he has to get to the Winchesters. He has to get to Dean. 

He followed the Winchesters’ path down the side of the house and slips through the broken window. He has to pull himself through, and it puts an unfamiliar strain on his body. He ends up in the kitchen, and from there he can see into the backyard. It’s just as well maintained as the front lawn, but with more flowers and a greenhouse. Sam is tied up on the ground, wrapped in what looks like a vine. Dean’s hanging in the air, upside down from another vine that's wrapped around his leg. 

Castiel creeps around and makes his way to the glass door that gives him a better view. From there, he can see Sabrina shoving books into bags and hastily cutting off bits of plants that she then puts into little bags. She writes a little on each on when she is done.  _ She’s labeling,  _ Castiel thinks. She moves quickly and with purpose. It occurs to him that she’s packing to leave. 

Castiel slides the door open and makes his way over to Sam, who is closer. He looks far more grateful than shocked that Castiel is there. Dean frowns intently at him from his place in the air. Castiel gives him apprehensive smile that he hopes conveys, “I waited five minutes, but I was too anxious waiting.” It only makes Dean look even more upset, so Castiel turns his attention to getting Sam free. 

The vines are thick with small spines that make Castiel’s hands itch when he cuts through them. They’re quick to cut through, but he is only fast enough to cut Sam’s torso free before Sabrina notices him. 

Which ultimately leads to him being thrown against the side of the house and the current situation. 

He vaguely hears more shouting and a gunshot. There’s also the hissing sound of magic in the air two that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He should be able to get his arms under him and push himself up, but they refuse to cooperate fully. He manages to get himself on his hands and knees shakily. Once his visions clears he can make out the scene of Sabrina clutching a satchel to her her chest while she has one hand in the air conducting the vines around Dean to constrict him higher. Sam’s got a gun pointed at her, but her vines have swirled around Dean’s neck and that makes the stakes too high to take a shot.

She eyes Castiel briefly. He finds it insulting how she quickly dismisses him as a threat. She looks at him with… a certain sadness, almost like she’s sorry. “I didn’t want to have to kill you,” she says. Her voice sounds genuine and it throws Castiel for a loop.

“Okay, then don’t,” Dean strains to say with the vine tightening around him. 

“What you had, it was so romantic. What a cute little family,” she adds wistfully and dismisses Dean. Castiel is confused by her statement.  

He becomes even more confused when he sees Jack step out from behind the greenhouse. He has an angel blade in one hand and gives a friendly wave at Castiel. He points the blade at Sabrina and gives it a pretend jab followed up by a thumbs up. Castiel shakes his head. He told him to stay in the car. Why doesn’t Jack listen to him?  _ Oh,  _ Castiel thinks after he assesses the situation he’s in now. Jack creeps closer to Sabrina, and with each step, it causes Castiel's stomach to sink lower. Does Jack even know how to use an angel blade? 

He has to keep Sabrina’s attention away from Jack. “Why did you do it?” Castiel asks her as he stands on wobbly legs. 

Sabrina frowns at him, clearly displeased that he didn’t stay down. “I was trying to help them,” she explains, but provides no actual context. 

“How very helpful of you to kill them,” Dean says. His face is red from hanging upside down for too long. Castiel has to suppress a snort at Dean’s comment. 

Her face twists in rage, angry tears forming in her eyes. “They weren’t supposed to die!” she yells. “I was just trying to… give them motivation.” 

Jack is out in the open now, having walked all the way out from behind the greenhouse. “You wanted them to be with their loved one,” Castiel goads her. He wonders why Jack doesn’t just fly behind her and stab her. Maybe he’s afraid that his abilities will fail him. Maybe, Castiel thinks with a sense of loss, he’s hesitant to kill someone. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to see Jack kill anyone, either. 

Sabrina nods ruefully. “I thought if they thought they were dying, they would just tell the person. You know? Like some kinda deathbed confession.” Her look of sorrow morphs into one of annoyance. Castiel flinches involuntarily. Sam glances at him quickly, a look of pity on his face. If he wasn’t sure about Sam’s alliance with Jack before, he’s positive now. “But they would really rather have died then confessed,” she says with disappointment.

Honestly, Castiel finds that relatable. As much as his confession was never acknowledged by Dean, he’s almost thankful it wasn’t. If he ever has to bring it up again, he hopes someone will stick an angel blade in his back. 

“That’s very… generous of you,” Castiel gives her false praise. He notices that she slackens her hold on Dean, surprised at his words. 

She gives him a smile, one unlike the one she gave them at the diner. “You get it. We’re both romantics.” She sways in place, like the idea of romance is enough to make her swoon. 

Jack is close to her now. Castiel can tell Sam sees him, too, by the way his jaw clenches. Jack has a weak grip on the blade. His hands shake. Castiel doesn’t think Jack can do it. 

Sabrina must notice Castiel’s gaze directed over her shoulder, because she spins in her spot to face Jack. 

The angel blade he brought is within reach, so he scoops it up and throws it at Sabrina. He’s just quick enough to prevent her from casting another vine to hurt Jack. His balance is off and the blade only scrapes her arm. It’s enough to distract her, at least. Jack takes the moment she turns on Castiel to stab her in the back. 

There’s a pause after she falls. Like everyone needs to take a moment to process. It’s only a second long and ends when Dean is finally released. He lands with a groan and rolls around trying to get up. The vines are slack now, but still entwined around him. He struggles and worms around before he stops with a huff. 

“Is no one going to help me?” he complains face down in the grass. 

♦

Jack does a quick round of healing before they pile into the Impala. He hasn’t had much practice with it, but it helps enough. Castiel’s head still hurts, but it’s minimal compared to what it was while they were dealing with Sabrina. Despite the way Dean keeps rolling his shoulder, he insists on driving them back to the motel after the post-hunt evidence cleanup. Both him and Sam have random holes torn into their clothes where the thorns dug in too deep. There are even blotches of blood where they burrowed into the skin. 

Dean doesn’t talk to Castiel. Not about him not staying the car, or the fact that the reason Sabrina didn’t instantly kill them was that she thought they were an item. It’s understandable, if not a little hurtful. Castiel has moved past trying to reason with Dean that when he puts himself in harm's way, it’s to protect him. Dean’s upset with him, because he broke his promise. Eventually, he’ll understand that without Castiel’s intervention, things could have been substantially worse. Castiel only knows this because he’s been on the other side, trying to get Dean to just let Castiel handle something and then having Dean barge in. It’s frustrating at first, but ultimately he’s been glad to have Dean there. It’s always to protect each other, because they care. Dean’s actions may be based on more familial feelings than Castiel’s, but it took Castiel a while to recognize that Dean does care for him as more than a tool. It’s bittersweet to finally realize how important you are to someone and have it still not be enough. 

Castiel is a little miffed with Jack at first. However, it takes one look at him to realize that maybe now isn’t the time to berate him. He did just kill someone, and although Castiel can end a life without thinking about it, Jack hasn’t before. Castiel can’t even think of anything to say to him. It’s a failure he never saw coming. 

They pack their things with few words early in the morning. Dean still isn’t happy with Castiel, but at least he isn’t ignoring him. They managed to exchange a few words before bed when Dean had wanted to check Castiel’s head for injuries. His fingers were gentle against his scalp and he’d pulled away far to quickly for Castiel’s liking. 

Things get better around noon, when Dean makes him try mixed berry pie at lunch. Even Jack seems more upbeat. Castiel even makes sure to thank Sam, who he assumes was able to give Jack the guidance that Castiel couldn’t. 

The case doesn’t get brought up again until they get home. Dean doesn’t feel like cooking so he throws a frozen pizza in the oven. It’s stuffed crust, which makes it better in Castiel’s opinion. So much so that he eats the crust first, much to Dean and Sam’s disgust. It’s one of those human rules that Castiel doesn’t mind not following because, frankly, it’s stupid. 

Sam brings it up casually over dinner. At least it seems that way. Castiel’s isn’t sure. He could be doing it because of the parallels between the case and Castiel’s own feelings, which he’s already certain Sam is aware of. Or maybe Castiel is just paranoid. 

“Yeah, so that case was crazy. Never came across that before,” Sam says while flicking off the sausage on his pizza. Dean greedily picks them off his plate and eats them. 

Dean licks the grease off his fingers. Castiel probably pays more attention to that action than necessarily appropriate. “I mean, was it? Just another crazy witch who thinks they’re ‘helping.’”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I think it’s interesting, that’s all. Look, Sabrina was obviously immensely powerful, and she used that for what? To try to get people together–”

Dean scoffs, “She got people killed, is what she did, Sam. All because she was trying to force things that weren’t gonna happen.” Castiel feels a chill that makes him shiver. He wants to believe it’s because he’s always cold, but he knows deep inside it’s from Dean’s words.

“I’m not trying to  _ defend _ her, Dean. She obviously had some issues,” Sam retorts. “I just wanna know what you think about her method.” 

“First of all, don’t call it a  _ method _ . She cursed those people because she wanted something to happen that wasn’t possible, and innocent people died,” Dean argues and bites angrily into his pizza. 

“Why would you say it’s impossible?” Jack asks. Castiel knows why he would direct this question to Dean. He sends Jack a small, squinty glare. “We don’t know about Corrine’s situation, but what about Blake?” 

“His friend was married, Jack. He didn’t even have a chance. Plus, Sabrina had this whole thing revolving around what? A deathbed confession. That alone proves how insane she was. She was doing all this for amusement, not for… some kind of romantic, sappy, happy ending. It’s not like dying is gonna make someone magically fall in love with you.” Castiel loses his appetite in the middle of Dean’s response. 

“Plus,” Dean adds after a bite, “deathbed confessions are cheesy.” He shrugs nonchalantly, like what he said held no gravity. “Some people should just really move on.”

Castiel has to force himself to swallow the food in his mouth. It goes down hard and scratchy, like glass. Dean continues eating, either not having realized how  _ hurtful _ what he said was or not caring how it sounded. Is it possible that Dean really doesn’t care that he basically put down Castiel’s confession? He never expected Dean to return his feelings—hell, he was half expecting him to reject him immediately. When it became apparent that Dean was going to choose to pretend the whole thing never happened, Castiel had gladly followed suit. 

But now Dean’s true feelings about what went down that day are apparent. Blake Dolin didn’t have a chance with his best friend, and Castiel doesn’t have a chance with Dean. His confession wasn’t a ploy to make Dean recognize his feelings. It was genuine, in the moment thing that had happened because he thought he was going to die. Dean saw it as cheesy and an act of desperation. Castiel should “move on.” 

He supposes that he had convinced himself that he had accepted Dean’s position in his life as a best friend. Looking back on his actions since returning from the Empty, it’s apparent he hasn't. Some part of him has still been searching for any romantic connection with Dean. Everything Dean does, every action he makes towards Castiel, Castiel has told himself it’s all under the umbrella of familial bonds. Only now that Dean’s true perception of Castiel’s confession is revealed, he realizes that he still has been holding on to some hope that Dean might love him back. 

It’s ironic that he can have such an epiphanic moment at the same time that he feels so stupid.

He can only watch absently as Dean eats his pizza. It’s like he’s in own little world, completely oblivious. Maybe he is. Castiel doesn't know enough to about this particular part of being human to properly guess what Dean is thinking. He knows how badly he doesn’t want to be here right now. Not just in the kitchen, but in the bunker. The only appropriate action he can think of is to get up and leave. 

“Dean,” Sam says before Castiel can stand. He sounds disappointed. Castiel leaves before he can properly see Dean’s reaction to Sam. 

Jack doesn’t say anything, thankfully. Castiel wants to be a strong role model for him, but right now he feels so weak and tired. It’s a mix of his own hurt feelings and the hunt catching up to him. His chest hurts. It squeezes in ways that brings tears to his eyes and he hates it. He hates how cold he is. Hates how much human emotion can go unchecked and uninvited. Hates the way Dean can be so good, yet at the very same time so hurtful. They’re all flawed, he tells himself. They've all hurt each other. 

It’s times like these, he realizes in his bed surrounded by layers of fabric, that he misses being an angel. Of course, he’s never regretted where he is now. But sometimes when the emotions are too much, when they make things harder than usual, he wishes he didn’t feel anything, like before. 

There are things that make up for it, though. Things he could never have in heaven. Jack and Claire hold a special place in his heart. Sam and Dean have proven that despite their collective transgressions against each other, they do care. Even Dean, who can hurt him so swiftly and love so much, is probably the best thing to ever happen to him. Castiel used to be able to touch stars, now he feeds stray cats behind the bunker. He wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

However, it doesn't stop the rejection from hurting. Even physically—his chest hurts, constricting and shifting strangely. Soon his throat itches, too. He tries clearing his throat, but it does nothing to soothe the strange sensation. There’s something in the back of his throat that refuses to budge. It’s small, from what he can tell, it’s not hard and roughly textured, but it’s still uncomfortable. Castiel’s tries clearing his throat, hoping to dislodge whatever is there. Whatever it is, is preventing him from swallowing air. 

He starts coughing roughly, hacking up the foreign object. Each cough feels like a tear from his throat to his ribs. Eventually, he manages to spit up the object into his hand. 

It’s a petal. 

It’s one singular damp petal, ruffled slightly, and a vibrant yellow. 

* * *

 

Dean is the first to admit that he may be a tad insensitive sometimes. Not that he actively tries to be an asshole (most of the time), but there are moments when his emotional capacity doesn’t grant him enough insight into what may or may not be a chill thing to say or do. Usually, he can blame it on the fact that he has been suppressing his feelings since he learned to talk. However, he can’t use that excuse now, not when he’s been putting 100% effort into doing the opposite. 

Now, he’s not going to give himself a pat on the back for being able to admit that he’s sad sometimes, because most of the time he has trouble recognizing that he is sad. He’s spent so long shoving every disgruntled feeling into a bag filled with rocks and throwing it off the bridge, that sometimes he can’t even register feeling anything. Oh, when he was in his prime, he’d looked at this as an asset. Feeling angry because you found out your whole life was just for the convenience of some celestial dickbags? Use that anger to punch a vamp in the face. Having an existential life crisis because your whole life was just for the convenience of some celestial dickbag? Bottle that shit up,  ‘cause you have a brother to protect and an apocalypse to stop. 

Dean does feel; he feels so much. When Cas died, all the things he was used to silencing had suddenly been turned up to full volume. He’d been angry and hurt. Hurt by the universe he gave so much for. Hurt by Cas, who had to go and get himself killed. 

Despite how depressed he’d felt, it was almost freeing. He could be angry at the world and nobody could tell him otherwise, because his best friend was dead. Mary had tried to comfort him, to tell him that it was going to be alright. She told him that things would get better, that he needed to calm down. She didn’t know, not really. She didn’t know Cas as he did. Cas didn’t mean as much to her as he did to Dean. But Dean immediately felt guilty for telling her off. All she was doing was trying to be the mother she never got to be and Dean had to lose his shit. Still, Mary had held him as he sobbed into her shoulder. It was pathetic and relieving at the same time. 

Now that Cas is back, things are different, and Dean wants to different. Cas deserves better, and so does the rest of their little patchwork family. And he’s been doing so much better, he had thought. Dean had thought he was being more open, after having an honest, meaningful conversation with Cas and Jack. 

Yet, he’s somehow managed to fuck something up, because Cas is avoiding him. Dean hasn’t had any one-on-one time with him since they returned from the case a few days ago. Sure, Dean is a little bitter about how everything had gone down, but that can mostly be chalked up to the embarrassment that he’d upside down while most of the action was going down. A little bit of it has to do with the fact that Cas didn’t stay in the car. But Dean had been under the impression that things were good between them, at least until dinner when Cas had walked out right in the middle of Dean talking. 

And Sam of course, is fucking pissy about it, saying Dean was being  _ insensitive.  _ Dean wants to defend himself at first. All he was trying to do was explain how absurd Sabrina’s whole shtick was and… 

Oh, yeah. Cas actually had done the whole deathbed confession thing. Of course, his was obviously to let his family know how much they meant to him and not some dramatic love confession. But now Dean can see where he might have gone wrong. 

He had basically rubbed it in Cas’s face, how pathetic his near death was, which was not all that Dean had been trying to say. 

Sam had pointed out to him a while ago that Dean’s not the only one who had to deal with Cas’s death and he’s not the only one who has to deal with the bizarre situation with their mother. It occurs to Dean that maybe he has gotten so focused on keeping his emotions in check that he never stops and realizes that the people around him are feeling things, too. Usually, the world is in need of saving, so things like  _ feelings _ have to be sacrificed. It sounds so stupid when he realizes this. Obviously, his loved ones have feelings, it’s just that Dean gets so focused on keeping them alive that he’s doesn’t ever really stop and think about how they must be holding up. 

But hey, he’s never claimed to be a mental health advocate. 

He never picked up on how much Cas felt useless and expendable, not until it had cost them. Now he’s just glad Cas is alive. It’s selfish, Dean knows. It’s also a big part of the reason he wants to change. 

And now he’s fucked up  _ again _ , because he was so wrapped up in how traumatic Cas’s near death in that barn was, he’s never stopped to think how messed up it must have been for Cas. Dean had just been glad to have his best friend back. 

Does Cas know now how important he is to Dean? How much Dean missed him? ‘Cause it’s a lot. He cares so much that sometimes he checks on Cas in the middle of the night. Sometimes he wants their platonic hugs to last longer than probably appropriate. He chalks up all those feelings to the fact that he rarely gets to keep people, so yeah, lately he’s been a little more affectionate than usual. 

All these thoughts and epiphanies lead to now, to him standing at Cas’s door at two in the morning, because Dean has zero impulse control. 

He knocks casually, like this is an everyday visit and not him coming to fix a mistake in the middle of the night. Cas doesn’t answer, of course, probably because it’s two in the fucking morning. Dean goes for the door knob. Even if he can’t actually talk to Cas right now, at least he can check up on him. 

The door is locked, much to Dean’s surprise. Cas never locks his door. Any courage Dean brought with him drains away. This feels like rejection. He knows he deserves it, but it still hurts to have Cas put a wall between them. 

“Cas, man, if you can hear me, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says to the door. He waits a little longer, hoping Cas might open it up. He doesn’t. 

Defeated and with a heavy heart, he shuffles back to his room. 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t see Cas in the morning, either, but Jack is the first one to make his way into the kitchen. Dean isn’t in the mood to make anything this morning so he gives Jack a quick lesson on how to make a bowl of cereal. He tells Jack to let Cas know that Dean wants to talk to him. Jack looks at him unimpressed and with what Dean thinks maybe amusement. He’s not sure, but it’s pretty obvious that Jack knows something he doesn’t. If he wasn’t so pressed on the issue with Cas right now, he would pry into whatever Jack has going on. 

“Come on, Jack,” Dean begs while Jack meticulously eats his sugary cereal. He takes each bite like he’s studying it, and maybe he is. Or maybe he’s studying Dean. “Can you just knock on his door? Tell him his best friend wants to apologize for being a dick?”

“Oh, so you do know?” Jack asks after he takes a spoonful of just marshmallows. He frowns at Dean as he chews. Jack always has an unusual amount of the sugary bits in his bowl, even though Dean knows for a fact that there wasn’t so many when he watched Jack pour it.  

He’s not sure what Jack is referring to. “I know I was an asshole, yeah.” 

Jack squints at him with displeasure, which he has no right to, considering that Dean’s that one who is displeased. “Why do you think my Father is mad at you?” 

Dean holds back a groan. He really doesn’t want to explain in vivid detail about those events. “Okay, so basically, once upon a time, Cas was dying.” Jack doesn’t look shocked. If anything, he looks bored. Dean continues, “And ‘cause he was dying, he told us he loved us. So I think–”

“Us?” Jack interrupts. He pauses his chewing and raises his eyebrows at Dean. 

“Well, like me, mom, and Sam, you know? I think–” Dean tries to explain, but Jack cuts him off again. 

“He said that he loved all of you?” Jack presses. He points the spoon at Dean. “Like not just you?” He looks at Dean expectantly. 

It’s not really important how it was said, Dean thinks. Just that it was said and Dean made fun of Cas for it. Why is Jack prying anyway? “Obviously,” Dean answers. It doesn’t seem to soothe Jack’s curiosity If anything, he looks even more bewildered. Dean almost jumps when Jack stands up abruptly. 

“I must leave immediately,” he tells Dean, then follows up by chugging down the rest of the cereal in his bowl at an inhuman rate. Dean is impressed. 

Dean quickly grabs Jack’s arm. “You’ll talk to Cas, won’t you?” He can’t help but feel a little bit guilty about using Jack to get to Cas. However, he knows that Cas has a hard time saying no to the kid. 

Jack gives him another contemplative look and nods. Dean lets him go and watches him scurry out of the kitchen. It takes a lot of willpower not to follow him and investigate what he’s up to. After their talk, he hopes he can trust Jack to tell him if something is wrong. Also, it’s possible nothing is wrong and Dean’s natural hunter paranoia mixed with the fact that Jack is a weird kid could just painting that kind of picture. 

Dean hangs around the kitchen some more, still hoping he’ll catch Cas. A half hour in, he gets a GIF from his mom of an overweight dog waving its paw. It makes him chuckle. His mom has more fun with technology than he ever has. He’s glimpsed the conversations between Cas and Mary and there are so many emojis and GIFs that Dean can’t even tell what they are saying. For some reason, the relationship between Cas and his mom is both very cute and heartwarming. 

Mary tells him that she’s on her way to drop in. It’s both exciting and nerve-racking when she announces a visit. Dean loves having her, as she makes their little band of misfits even more complete, but there's still an edge of awkwardness for all of them that’s hard to avoid. Jack had asked if he could call her grandma once, and Mary left within the hour in a panic. She came back a couple weeks later and told him to call her Mary, then handed him a shirt she thought Jack would look cute in and a box of candy she brought him. It’s understandable, he thinks; Mary is still trying to figure out how to work a mother dynamic, and anything having to do with being a  _ grandparent _ might be overload. 

Also, if Jack sees Dean’s mom as a grandma, then that implies that he sees Sam and him as his dads, which is…. nice. Nice is an understatement, more like awesome. That means Jack has like, three times the dads. Dean purposely chooses to believe that Jack couldn’t have done better. Sure, they all have hang-ups, but who doesn’t? 

He messages back and forth with Mary for a little while longer. This conversation is one of the easy ones. He offers to call, but she declines because someone she was waiting for shows up. 

He sighs and realizes it’s past time for Cas to come in and inhale his morning coffee, or for Jack to return with news from Cas. He’s gonna give it another five minutes and then he’s going to go find Cas himself. Cas better know that he can’t avoid Dean when they live together. The bunker may be huge, but Dean will go through every storage room if he has to, to get to Cas and apologize. 

Right at the five-minute mark, Cas stumbles in. It takes all of half a second for Dean to notice that something is very wrong. Cas has a sheen on his skin and bags under his eyes. His eyes are red, and if Dean was a poet, he would say that his normally bright azure blue eyes are dull and drained. 

Dean’s already crowding him, reaching out to touch his forehead. Cas stares at him with wide eyes and tries to make a quick getaway. Dean’s quick to cut him off by standing in front of the doorway. Any apology he had pre-planned is out of his mind for now. Cas is obviously sick, and Dean is not gonna sit back and let Cas suffer through whatever probably miner sickness he has caught. 

Cas swats his hand away harshly enough that it makes hand sting. Dean can’t fault him for that, but he can’t understand why his feelings are hurt by Cas’s actions. He wants to help. “Hey, you’re not looking too hot right now,” Dean says to him and then immediately regrets it. God, he was supposed to be making sure Cas was okay and the first thing he does is go and insult him. Cas gives a grumpy frown. “I mean,” he tries to remedy the situation, “you look less hot than usual.” They both flush in embarrassment, because Dean’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to speak English, despite speaking it for the last thirty plus years. 

“I’m fine,” Cas tells him. And those are the words that Dean has grown used too. “I’m fine,” they say when there’s a bullet lodged in their shoulder. “I’m okay,” they grunt after another close call. If Dean’s learned anything, it’s that that that they are never just “fine” or “okay”. He doesn’t believe Cas, for this very reason. That and his voices sounds even more deep and gravely than it normally is. 

“Cas, C'mon,” Dean pleads and reaches out again. Cas flinches but doesn’t move away from Dean’s touch. He first skims his fingertips along Cas’s dark hair, so it’s pushed back off his damp forehead. Dean thinks about how soft the strands are and glides his hand through Cas’s hair more than necessary. It is also damp and sticks up when Dean moves his hand to place the back of it on Cas’s forehead. He surprises Dean by pressing back. 

Cas is warm—not alarmingly, but enough that Dean’s mother-henning is activated. Satisfied, Dean resumes petting Cas’s head. Cas clasps onto Dean’s robe loosely. Dean can’t for the life him of guess why that doesn’t bother him. He also doesn’t know why he’s still touching Cas in a very non-bro manner. It’s not hurting anyone, he reasons with himself. Plus, it’s kinda nice. 

He watches Cas’s face closely, checking if Cas is down with whatever this is. His eyes are closed and he looks relaxed. The tired lines on his face are still present, but softened. His lips look like they could use some chapstick, but are a healthy shade of pink. Cas has them parted slightly. The hand that’s still at his side twitches to reach out and touch them. It’s a weird enough thought that it makes his hand stutter in Cas’s hair. 

Cas lets go of Dean and moves away from Dean’s touch. His cheeks are flushed slightly and he looks almost ashamed, Dean thinks. Maybe he is. Sure, they do a lot of awkward staring and stand closer than necessary, but they rarely actually touch. In fact, he’s never really seen Cas do a lot of touching with anyone. Yet Dean’s standing here, petting him like some kind of pet. 

“Dean,” Cas begins, but then is interrupted by a sudden hacking cough. He covers his mouth with his hand and continues to let out these horrible wet crackling sounds. Every cough seems to shake his whole body. It scares Dean a little and he almost hesitates to reach out towards Cas again. 

He puts his hands on his friend’s shoulders and Cas jerks away again from him violently. He doesn’t spare Dean another glance before he bolts out of the kitchen. Dean doesn’t bother chasing after him. Maybe he’s embarrassed? At one time, he was an all-powerful being; now he’s but a lowly human who had his first coughing fit. For whatever reason Cas doesn’t want Dean’s help, and Dean’s going to respect that. 

Well, not really, but he’s gonna give Cas some space. For now, he’s gonna warm up some canned soup for Cas. The dude never got whatever he came into the kitchen for, but he must be starving. Then he’ll make a run to the store to stock up on cough drops and whatever other medicine he thinks Cas may need. 

With soup warmed up, Dean makes his way to Cas’s room, this time fully anticipating that Cas will tell him to fuck off. He’s right. Knocking warrants nothing but absolute silence, so Dean leaves the soup out by the door. 

He gets ready quickly, throwing on a couple layers of shirts and clean pants. He wants to make a quick trip. Maybe he can have lunch planned for Cas, and for the others, too, of course. Cas is priority numero uno, though. He’s given himself a mission, a goal. Hopefully, Cas will notice that Dean is really trying to make up with him. Then they’ll be best friends again. 

It makes him feel kinda like a little girl, calling Cas his best friend, but hey, he’s been through too much to feel bad about it. Cas is his best friend, his bestie if you will. 

He hunts down Sam, so he can tell him that he’s leaving. Sam is in the kitchen making a smoothie. The blender is on and Dean has to shout over it. “Sam! I’m heading to the store! Keep an eye on Cas!” 

Sam doesn’t seem to notice and keeps the blender running. The liquid inside is a thick murky green, probably made of kale and chia seeds. It makes Dean suppress a gag. Dean shouts his name again, and this time Sam notices and looks over his shoulder at him. “Cas is sick, can you make sure to check on him while I go to the store?” He speaks loudly in an attempt to be heard over the blender. 

Sam gives him a thumbs up and nods, but that's not good enough for Dean. He walks over to where Sam stands and takes a moment to look him in the eye and frown at him. Then he pulls the plug on the blender causing it to stop abruptly. 

“Hey!” Sam pouts at him with displeasure. Maybe Dean is being a little short with Sammy today, but he wants to make sure he can make Cas feel better as soon as possible. 

Dean crosses his arms and huffs. “Watch Cas while I’m at the store,” he says for the third time, frustrated.

“I heard you,” Sam whines. 

Dean smacks his hand away from the plug when Sam reaches for it. “I’m serious. He’s not feeling too well, and I want you to make sure he doesn’t keel over while I go get him some medicine.” 

Sam tilts his head and looks down at Dean quizzically. It puts Dean on edge. Lately, it feels like Sam and Jack have been watching and judging his every move. “I’ve got it Dean. I’ll go check on him in a bit.” He gives Dean a sly smile.

“I’m just getting him some things. I would do it for Jack or you if you were hacking up all your organs,”  Dean doesn't know why he suddenly feels the urge to defend his actions.

“Okay, Dean,” Sam’s voice sounds condescending, but Dean doesn’t spend any more time on 3zhim. He’s got more important things to do. Sam can kiss his ass. 

Later, at the store, he ends up having to call his pain in the ass brother to get his opinion on what kind of cough drops he should get. Dean knows what he prefers, but Cas deserves the best. The only reason he doesn’t know the answer off the top of his head is that Dean’s not the kind of person to start conversations about cough drops. Sam, on the other hand, so is. 

“What if he likes the cherry more than the lemon honey?” he asks. The phone is balanced on his shoulder while he holds  a flavor in each hand . 

“I don’t think Cas knows what he likes,” Sam answers. He’s right, Dean thinks. Cas has probably never had a cough drop in his life. He throws both bags in the cart. 

“You know,” Sam says, his voice overly casual. “Cas is a great dude.” 

Dean pauses his reading of the back of a bright vitamin drink. “I guess? I mean, yeah he is, but why do you mention it?”

Sam gives a hum that doesn’t really answer Dean’s question. Dean grabs a couple packs of different flavors of vitamin juice. He’s not entirely sure what the juice will be good for, but vitamins are good for you, right? “Yeah, he’s… strong,” Sam muses. 

Dean freezes and stops pushing the cart. He’s made it to the aisle with the tissues. “Okay?” He agrees with his brother, but has no clue why Sam feels the need to point it out. This conversation has taken a sharp turn from just discussing what kind of cough drop to get. 

Dean almost gets distracted by the various kinds of tissues when Sam speaks again, “He’s good looking, too.” 

“Dude,” Dean replies. “What the hell?” Like, Dean is the first one in line at the “Cas is Great Parade”, but he still thinks it’s weird to hear Sam casually state things about Cas that Dean is already perfectly aware of. “Yeah, he’s a total babe, Sam. Do you want me to list my favorite things about Cas, too?” he says, annoyed. Dean waves a box of Puffs Plus Lotion tissues around. He makes awkward eye contact with an employee in a vest, who raises his eyebrows at Dean and looks vaguely concerned for him. Dean blushes and slowly turns the cart around, tissues in hand. 

“No need to get defensive, just stating the facts,” Sam says amused. 

“I’m not defensive, you are,” Dean retorts. He feels exposed, like Sam is pointing things out Dean already knows but would never say. 

“All I’m saying,” Sam says, his voice sounding like he’s about drop a bunch of knowledge on Dean, “is that you must really care about Cas, that’s all.”

_ That’s all. _ Dean snorts. “Of course I do. Have you met me? I tend to care a lot.”

“Oh you care a lot,  _ a lot. _ ”

“What does that mean?” Dean accuses, although he doesn’t know what he’s accusing Sam of. It’s like Sam is reading a book in a language Dean doesn’t know and is quizzing Dean on its contents. 

Sam doesn’t answer him, but instead starts talking to someone. His voice is muffled, like he’s trying prevent Dean from hearing him. Sometimes, Dean thinks he’s the smart brother. He hears Jack say, “That might have gone too far.” 

“Is Jack there? What are you doing?” Dean asks loudly into the phone. He makes brief eye contact with the employee again. This time the employee looks way more invested in Dean’s conversation than before. Dean quickly pushes his cart out of the aisle. 

He hears Sam clear his throat forcefully. “Anyway, I haven’t seen Cas, but the bowl you put out for him is gone so he’s eating at least.” Dean knows he’s trying to change the subject. A part of him wants to keep prying, and find out whatever this conversation is about, but ultimately it’s making him flustered in the grocery store, so he goes along with Sam. 

“Oh, that’s good,” he grits out. 

They hang up eventually, leaving Dean confused and feeling tender. He wants to call Sam back and ask  _ what the fuck  _ that was about. 

Since when did Sam think Cas was good looking? Okay, in fairness, Dean also thinks Cas is very handsome, but he’s never felt the need to say it. Has he caught himself casually staring into his best bro’s eyes? Yeah, but that’s only because they’re hella blue, like real blue. They’re ethereal in a way that he can only associate with Cas. He’s seen Jimmy and knows there’s a difference between the two. 

He doesn’t like Sam talking about Cas like that. It makes him  _ feel  _ things. Things that are too abstract for him to understand, but all pointing in the same direction. They should lead him somewhere, it feels. There’s a path Dean knows he’s on, but it’s blocked. Probably, he assumes, by some revelation that he hasn’t made yet. He just knows that Cas has something to do with it. Even now, thinking about Cas at home, feeling sick makes Dean feel things that he doesn’t associate with anyone else. Sam was right, he does care about Cas. He cares about Cas a whole lot. 

He cares so much that it can hurt. Every time Cas is pulled away from Dean, whether by his own choice or someone else’s, it causes an absence in Dean that he knows is about Cas. It hurts when Cas doesn’t answer the phone. Dean even felt absolutely rejected when Cas locked his door to keep him out. 

There’s no doubt in his mind that Cas is family. Dean can’t comfortably put him in the brother category anymore. So where should Dean put him? Cas is his best friend, obviously, but they don’t act like best friends, especially lately. 

He thinks back to earlier in the kitchen, when all he wanted to do was touch Cas. His fingers could have easily curled around his ears and jaw. Cas would look confused, because Cas always is bewildered by human behavior. Cas might lick is lips, a habit he picked up because his lips are always dry. (This reminds Dean to get him chapstick.) He would look at Dean expectantly, like he was waiting for Dean to do something. Cas always looks at him like that. He’s secretly kinda always liked the way Cas looks at him. An angel who has touched stars and can tell you how many grains of sand are in an hourglass, looks at Dean like he was capable of doing the very same. 

That morning Cas had lightly gripped Dean’s robe, just enough for Dean to notice. He wonders what would have happened if he’d pulled Dean in closer. He can almost feel what it would have been like if Cas had laid his hands on his chest.   

Dean’s staring absently at the jugs of juice when he comes to a shocking conclusion. 

What if… Dean is in love with Cas in a very unplatonic matter? Maybe in a romantic way? 

_ I might be in love with Cas _ , he tells himself. He thinks for a moment longer.  _ Oh, I’m definitely in love with Cas.  _

He waits for a freak-out, for him to deny it. But who is he going to deny it to? Himself? No, not anymore. If he’s… in love with Cas, then he’s in love with Cas. Plain and simple. 

Maybe not so simple, actually, because what is Dean supposed to do with these feeling? The last thing he wants to his shove them away and leave them in a corner somewhere. Cas deserves better than that. And Dean’s almost surprised to admit that even he deserves more than that. After all the shit he has been through, he deserves to fall in love with such a great guy. Of course, there is still the whole matter that Cas has to like him back. Cas has said that he loves the Winchester’s, but that doesn’t mean that he loves Dean like  _ that _ . 

For some reason, the idea of Cas not returning his feelings doesn’t get him down too much. In fact, he’s kind of hopeful. Things have been going so well lately that he can't help but be positive. There’s still a little corner of his mind that is telling him that he should stop while he’s ahead. It tells him that what he’s feeling right now is wrong and that he shouldn’t be loving Cas like he does. He knows that there’s a chance it could ruin everything, that he could get hurt. 

But he wants this. Whatever  _ this _ with Cas is going to be, he wants it. It’s rare that he lets himself want things. The last thing he wanted really bad was to die, and that was only because Cas was gone. Now he wants to live, for Sam and Jack, and so he can stand by Castiel’s side, hand in hand. God, he feels so cheesy right now. 

* * *

 

Dean bursts through the bunker door, arms full of groceries. He’s momentarily surprised to see to see that there’s no one waiting to help him put stuff away. In fact, something immediately feels wrong to Dean. 

“Hey, guys!” he yells and makes his way down the stairs. It’s a slow process due to all the bags he has to carry down by himself. He doesn’t get a response. It’s a little unnerving. The bunker is huge and it’s always made him uncomfortable to be alone in it. 

The kitchen is void of anyone either. He puts the bags on the table and starts a quest for the rest of the bunker’s inhabitants. He heads down towards the bedrooms. The closer he gets, the more he can make out the sound of banging. It’s not rhythmic, but very urgent. He hears Sam’s voice before he actually sees him. 

“Cas? You gotta talk to me, man. I’m about to call Dean,” he says in a soothing voice. It makes Dean’s blood run cold. His pace quickens until he sees Sam and Jack standing outside the bathroom door, both with strained faces. 

“What’s going on?” Dean demands. He crowds by the door next to the other two. “Cas?” He bangs on the door. 

“It sounds like he’s dry heaving in there,” Sam tells him. “He keeps saying he’s fine, but he sure doesn’t sound like it. “ 

Dean can vaguely hear Cas inside making coughing noises. His mind conjures up the image of Cas lying on the cold tiled floor coughing up a lung. “Cas, I’m two seconds away from breaking this door down.” Rather than wait for a response, he rams his shoulder into the door. It hurts immediately. The old guys that build this place spared no expenses when it came to structure. The door only moves slightly. 

Sam helps him the next time he pushes his body against the door. Combined, they manage to bust the door open. They both quickly regain their balance after almost falling inside. Jack squeezes in with them, also trying to get a look at Cas.

Dean can tell from the rancid smell wafting in the space that Cas must have thrown up. Cas is standing next to the toilet, one hand on the handle, pushing it down and flushing the toilet. Dean’s thankful that he’s not close enough to see the contents of the bowl. Cas doesn’t look the least bit bothered. In fact, if Dean didn’t know any better, he would say that Cas looks pretty okay. He certainly isn’t acting like someone who just spent who knows how long throwing up. 

“I’m okay,” Cas says. His voice sounds raw enough that it makes Dean wince. “No need to worry.” 

“You’re lying!” Jack shouts. It makes everyone jump a little. He turns quickly to Dean. “He’s lying Dean.”

“I know.” Dean crosses his arms and frowns at Cas, who at least bothers to look sheepish. “You guys go, I’ll take care of him,” he instructs. Sam nods at him and pats his shoulder on the way out. Jack stays behind a moment longer, like he’s contemplating something. Then he follows after Sam, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the room together. 

Dean wastes no time getting closer to Cas, who stiffens up once Dean is in his space. Dean doesn’t relent until Cas is backed against a wall, and a few feet of space are between them.  Dean takes a moment to assess the situation. Cas looks a little more clammy than he did earlier. There’s a mark imprinted on the side of his face that Dean knows from experience is caused from spending too much time with your cheek pressed against the side of the toilet seat. He’s also not looking Dean in the eyes. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are pressed to his sides. 

The way he’s standing makes it seem like Dean is towering over him, and he hates it. Cas should never look this pathetic. He should always be able to look Dean right in the eye. Dean takes a step closer. The acidic smell is slightly stronger, but Dean makes sure not to show physically how much it bothers him. The last thing he wants is for Cas to feel ashamed about being sick. 

His hand extends to place itself on the junction between Cas’s shoulder and neck. He lets it sit there, firm and heavy. Dean needs to anchor himself to Cas. He thinks Cas needs someone to keep him grounded and remind him that he’s here with people who care about him. Truthfully, Dean is all too happy to be that anchor. 

Cas still doesn’t look at him, but he stretches his neck out to press it firmly back against Dean’s palm. It gives Dean a little more courage to press harder against the skin under his hand. Cas bows his head and Dean uses the opportunity to bring his hand to the back of his neck.  His hand brushes the damp hair that curls there. Dean soothes the spot by rubbing it slightly with his fingers. Cas lets out a huffing breath that seems to release the tension in his body. 

Dean gets more confident and brings his other hand up to caress the side of Cas’s face. Maybe he’s taking advantage of the situation, he thinks. Would Cas let him touch him like this if he wasn’t sick? He gently maneuvers Cas’s head so he can hold it up to face Dean properly. Now he can look back into Cas’s eyes. They’re glossy and oh so blue. 

“You have to tell me if something is wrong, Cas,” Dean says quietly. They’re the only two in the bathroom, but Dean feels the need to keep this between them. 

He almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. After he speaks, Cas straightens up and jerks away from him. An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but Cas’s dry heaving cuts him off. 

Cas doubles over, and his back arches upward like a startled cat. Dean tries crowding closer, but Cas shoves him away with one arm. Dean manages to get a hold of him by his shoulders and tries to steer him over towards the toilet. Cas makes it harder by putting more effort into pushing Dean away than actually moving towards the toilet. They end up stumbling over each other and crashing to the ground 

Dean lands on his side with his arm extended under Cas’s head. Cas is face down and struggling to push himself up as another heavy cough wracks his body. The gagging sound he makes makes bile rise in Dean’s throat. Dean sits up quickly and tries to bring Cas back to a sitting position. The toilet is only a few feet away. Dean tries his best to hold Cas up, but the man keeps twisting in his arms and pushing Dean away, which ultimately pushes him farther away from the toilet. 

He gets in front of Cas, and tries tugging him over. Still, he can’t bring himself to use too much strength on Cas. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he also doesn’t want the guy to throw up on himself. Cas is still trying to push Dean away from him, but he stops to wrap his arms around his stomach. He lets out a gargled heave, and this time it brings something up. 

Dean can only hold Cas as he coughs up and spits out his insides. He keeps his eyes closed and rubs Cas’s back. He’s sure there has to be vomit on his jacket and pants, along with some on the tile next to them. There’s more wet rough coughing than there are actual sounds of throwing up. It still makes Dean want to gag as the sounds die down and the smells of acid and something floral fill the air. 

Cas flops against him, panting and groaning softly. Dean runs one hand through his hair as the other makes sweeping movements up and down his back. His face presses against Cas’s sweaty hair so he doesn’t have to see the bile around him. “I got you, Cas. I’m right here,” he whispers to him. He keeps repeating himself and gently rubbing Cas’s back until he can make himself look down. Dean then gently maneuvers Cas so he can balance himself against Dean. 

Cas’s head is laid on his shoulder and tilted up towards the ceiling. Dean sweeps his damp hair back, so it sits out of his face. He eyes are dilated and wet, like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. His grabs onto the lapel of Dean’s jacket and tucks his head into Dean’s neck. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into Dean’s throat, his hot breath leaving the area there damp. 

At first, Dean doesn’t understand what Cas means. He has nothing to apologize for. His first thought is that maybe Cas is still hung up on whether he is important to them. Dean holds Cas closer and prepares a speech to tell him how much he means to them, what exactly he means to Dean and how Dean wants to express that. 

Then he sees the petals littered around them. They come in different shapes and sizes, but they’re all heavenly dampened and mixed with stomach mucus and acid. The mixture is stuck to his sleeve and pants, along with the front of Cas’s shirt and the tile. There are petals that are small and white that look rippled,  also, some flatter petals that come in white and yellow. The last ones he notices, because there are less of them, are long with a deep inverted curve at the end. These are a light purple with darker veins. 

He starts yelling for Sam and Jack, before his brain can properly assess what he’s seeing. Or maybe does know, but refuses to think too hard on it. “Sam!” he yells again. He tries standing up and pulling Cas up with him. He must feel better now, because he easily goes up with Dean and keeps his balance. 

“Dean…” is all Cas says. It provides no explanation for why this is happening, but Dean doesn’t prompt him. Sam will be here soon, and will be able to explain why this is happening. It’s an erratic thought, but it’s what he chooses to put stock in now. 

Sam suddenly appears in the door frame, his hair in the disarray that he only gets when he’s been running. At another moment Dean would make fun of him for it, but now’s not the time. Jack peeks out from behind Sam and tries to squeeze his way into the bathroom. Both become silent when they take a proper look at what they see before them. 

“We messed up, right?” Dean asks while holding Cas close. Cas is fully standing up now and doesn’t really need Dean’s support, but Dean refuses to let go. “We fucked up. The witch isn’t dead—or, fuck—she musta had a partner. Jack–” He tugs Cas behind him as he tries desperately to get closer to Jack. “You can heal him, right?” 

Jack looks scared and wide-eyed at Dean. His hands are fidgeting, twisting together. He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t–”

“Try,” Dean interrupts. He pushes Cas towards Jack, who looks apprehensive and anxious. Dean knows Jack must be freaking out, but he needs him to fix this. 

Jack tentatively reaches out with one palm, his fingers outstretched towards Cas’s forehead. Cas looks ashamed, Dean thinks. His head is bowed as he waits for Jack’s fingers to make contact. Jack’s eyes glow a pale amber. He holds his hand there for a while, longer than Cas has ever had to do for Dean. 

Jack’s hands drops to his sides limply and his eyes return to normal. He frowns at Cas and shakes his head from side to side. “I don’t know how.” He backs away to hide behind Sam, a look of horror etched onto the young face. 

Dean feels a familiar anger rise in the back of his throat. It’s a rage and fire that he hasn’t experienced since the day after Cas died. His jaw clenches and his teeth grind together. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know how’?” he grits out between his teeth. “Aren’t you supposed to be–” his voice is starting to rise when Cas cuts him off. 

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Cas pulls himself out of Dean’s arms and towards Jack. “He’s still learning,” he says softly. 

Dean clamps his mouth shut and backs down. He’s disappointed in himself that he almost yelled at Jack. Dean holds his arms close to his body because they want to reach back out to Cas. 

“Cas, what’s going on?” Sam asks. Dean’s thankful that someone is finally asking the important questions.

Cas looks down at the mess on the floor. It’s enough of explanation for anyone. Dean can only spare a glance at it before he looks back at Cas’s worn face. “It appears I have been infected,” Cas supplies. Dean hates how he says it so casually. He hates how normal this is for them in general. It’s disturbing how calm Cas it acting right now. 

“Why didn’t killing the witch work?” Dean turns to Sam. He's trying his best to keep his voice in check, but he knows it breaks when it comes out. 

Sam purses his lips and shakes his head, causing his hair to sway with the movement. “I don’t know, Dean.” He won’t look Dean in the eye as he answers. It’s understandable, considering he’s basically telling Dean that Cas is dying and they have no idea why. 

Dean feels the sudden urge to punch something. His hands are already in fists and it would be quick to pivot slightly and connect one of them with the wall. Instead, he breathes in deeply through his nose and rubs a hand over his face. 

Dean takes a moment to look at his family. 

Jack keeps glancing between Cas and the dirty floor. Poor kid looks scared and Dean doesn’t blame him. He’s the first one to leave the bathroom, turning quickly and practically sprinting out of the room. Sam looks weary. He’s making the same face he makes when they’ve been hunting too long at one time. He leaves too, leaving Dean and Cas alone. 

“How long?” Dean asks after a beat. His brain has finally started cooperating, the feeling of desperation fading out. He knows that it takes a while for the curse to run its course. They only just got back from the hunt, which means that Cas could have only just caught it then, right? That means that they’re pretty early on in the curse. Dean hadn’t noticed anything when they shared a room, but he can’t be too sure. He takes a quick glance at the petals on the floor. There are so many of them. He’s mostly asking the question to know how long Cas has been lying to him. 

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes and stares absently at Dean’s chest. “It started last night,” he says softly. “This is the first time I… threw them up.” 

Dean nods, but doesn’t say anything else. The anger is slowly building its way back up and into his heart. He was in such a good mood earlier, with a heart full of joy and eagerness. Now it’s replaced with an overwhelming feeling of defeat. He knows,  _ he just fucking knows _ , that things were getting too good for him. It’s like tragedy is engraved in his bones. Here he was realizing how stupid in love he was with his best friend, and the universe had to come and shit on it. Now Cas is basically dying, because some dramatic witch likes to fuck with people. 

And then that anger is suddenly replaced with a feeling of dread and hurt. Cas is dying because of a curse that feeds on unrequited love. Cas loves someone who doesn’t love him back. Which proved that Dean’s love is one-sided. 

It hurts Dean in a way that he has never felt before. His chest squeezes and he feels his stomach lurch. For a moment, he thinks he’s about to throw up his own petals. Instead, the feeling dulls, and he’s still left with the problem of Cas dying. 

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t! Don’t–” he doesn’t know what he wants Cas not to do, but he can’t handle Cas apologizing. 

So Cas doesn’t say or do anything and he stands there silently as Dean swiftly walks to him and embraces him. He wishes he was doing it as a gesture to comfort Cas, but really, he’s selfish, and takes this moment because he’s scared he won’t be allowed to anymore. 

Cas coughs up more petals into his shoulder. 

* * *

 

Dean makes Cas go to bed after the bathroom is clean and he’s showered. He’s worried that Cas is too sick to do anything. Cas truthfully says he doesn’t feel all that bad. At least not as awful as he could be expected to feel with plants growing inside his chest. Of course, Dean knows that the curse takes time to fully incapacitate its victim. Dean wonders how long it’ll take for Cas to show any signs of fading away. That is, unless they find a way to fix this. 

When Cas returns to his room refreshed and not feeling so grimy, he looks surprised to find Dean standing there. He also seems very surprised to see that his canopy is down on the ground. The blankets, fabrics, and pillows are in piles on the floor. Those all fell to the ground after Dean untucked the canopy under the bed.  Dean is also holding  _ his  _ shirts And feeling a weird mix of flattery and irritation. He likes those shirts. 

For a moment, it looks like Cas is about to tackle him to the ground. His nostrils flare and he looks downright angry. Dean understands that. He did just tear down Cas’s nest, something that Dean knows is very important to him. “This way it’s quicker for you to get of bed. You won’t have to make a mess on your… nest,” Dean explains. It appears to calm Cas down. Dean chooses not to mention the shirts that are in his arms. This moment is already too awkward for them. “Sorry,” he adds.

Cas nods and shuffles his feet, clearly uncomfortable with Dean being there. It makes Dean feel bad. They've been through so much together; there shouldn’t be this kind of awkward tension between them. Then again, it’s only awkward because Dean made it that way. He’s the one that barged into Cas’s room and took his nest down. And a small part of himself that he hates, knows that maybe it was out malicious intent. Dean can be petty by nature and taking down Cas’s nest without permission might be his subconscious trying to punish Cas for putting this obstacle in their way. He hates that thought as it crosses his mind, but he quickly writes it off. Cas is important, and he knows truly that he wouldn’t purposely do something like that to Cas. Not to mention, he’s the one sporting a huge crush on the guy, which makes this whole situation more awkward. 

He makes a hasty exit after telling Cas he’s going to check in with Sam and Jack. He can only hope they’ve found something.

“We haven't found anything yet, Dean,” Sam says in front of his open laptop. He’s scrolling through any info on the case that might be connected to Cas. “It’s only been a half an hour.” 

Dean gets the idea to go through the laundry that is still sitting in duffle bags next to the washer. Everyone has been too tired to start the laundry. Maybe they can confirm that Sabrina was the one to curse Cas. Blake was given receipts with symbols on them. If they find anything like that, it’ll be a great lead. 

The problem, however, is that Dean doesn’t remember Cas having to ever handle any of the receipts. Dean paid for breakfast, and Jack paid for the rooms. Plus, the more he thinks about it, it occurs to him that Sabrina’s victims had multiple receipts. Does that mean Cas would have to be continuously exposed to the symbol? If so, is it possible that Cas could bounce back now that Sabrina is dead and unable to continue conducting the curse? It makes sense, Dean thinks. The issue is that they’re still not sure if it is Sabrina. In his experience, a witch doesn’t necessarily need a symbol or hex bag to curse someone. 

With his thoughts trying to sort out possibilities, he starts sorting through Cas’s bag. He checks the pockets on the pants and shirts, pulling them inside out. The most he finds is the smallest amount of lint until he looks into the inner pocket of the duffle bag. There, he finds a familiar mixtape and a folded piece of lined paper tucked alongside it. 

For a brief moment, Dean thinks he might have found something. At least until he unfolds the paper. The folding grooves are deep and the writing is not exactly cursive, but still flows together. There are splotches along some of the curves of the letters, indicating that Cas must have let his pen sit there as he thought about his words. The whole thing looks like scripture at first glance. At second glance, it looks like a numbered list. It’s obviously not what Dean needs or is looking for, so he shouldn’t bother reading it, right? Yet Dean can’t stop his eyes from scanning over the words. 

The first thing on the list is underlined: “That’s the Way”. Dean recognizes it as the first song on the tape that he gave Cas. It’s followed by a few lengthy sentences. Dean quickly glances out the laundry room door, whether to make sure no one sees him or to give himself a chance to stop while he’s ahead. He sighs and turns back to the paper. 

_ “I long for the time when our sole purpose was to watch over them, to protect them, the time I was pure,”  _ Dean reads to himself. He assumes this is Cas talking about his family watching the humans on earth.  _ “Maybe then, they wouldn’t chastise me so for my interactions with them. If they could see past the violence that humans conduct among themselves and others, they might conclude that we as beings are no different. We could love as much as they do. Listening to these words, I crave memories and nostalgia that are not mine. I suspect they come from my relationship with Sam and Dean.” _

Dean feels a strange sense of heaviness around him, not in a negative way, more as a blanket that surrounds him. It’s bittersweet to learn that Cas wishes to be an angel again, but also still loves humanity. It’s equally difficult to think that Cas’s infatuation and affection for him most likely stems from some sort of celestial, spiritual place. Then again, he already knows that Cas’s feelings for him are not within the same realm as Dean’s.

He feels the urge to fight again. The turmoil of his feelings is almost too much to bear. He wishes that they could find the source of Cas’s sickness, so Dean could find someone to finally put the blame on. Right now the rage boils and makes him jittery. Who can he take it out on? Sabrina, the witch who caused so much suffering and sadness, because she longed for some twisted kind of entertainment? She’s the front-runner, but she’s dead and Dean can’t do shit with that. Cas, who apparently went and found someone to fall in love with who doesn’t return the gesture and ultimately might be the cause of Cas’s death, leaving Dean a grieving widower again? Sam, who isn’t finding a way to fix this fast enough? There’s even some ill will towards Jack, who was incapable of healing Cas.

All these feelings and anger are usually bottled up with alcohol or used in the heat of the hunt. Neither are viable options for him right now. He almost wishes that he hadn’t given up his ability to suppress complicated feelings. Trying to sort through them the usual way was far less exhausting than whatever this is. 


	4. Chapter 4

It’s later in the afternoon when Sam calls a family meeting in the library. Castiel is immediately uncomfortable, knowing that he is the subject the meeting. He carries a feeling of shame, due to being the cause of the most recent disaster they have to clean up. The only positive that he can see is that at least it’s not on any apocalyptic scale. The only one dying is him. 

Dean hovers over him as he takes his seat. In any other instance, it would be pleasing to have Dean so close to him. Right now, however, it’s overbearing and sets him on edge. He knows that Jack and Sam are probably aware of Dean role in the curse. He’s not sure what Dean knows. Castiel is afraid that, because the instances where Dean was being very  _ friendly _ were followed up by the curse becoming more aggressive, Dean might conclude that he is indirectly causing it. In between those moments, Cas can handle coughing up a few petals, but it’s definite that the attacks are worse when Dean is around. He only hopes it’s not too obvious. 

Jack sits away from him, which is unusual, if not a little hurtful. He hasn’t even glanced at Castiel. Jack rarely chooses to distance himself from him. Castiel believes that Jack is ashamed that he can’t fix him. He can understand that. There have been many time times when Castiel beat himself up about not being able to heal or do anything for his friends. He’ll make sure to find time for Jack after this meeting to let him know that nobody is mad at him. 

“So,” Sam begins. His tone is light despite their current predicament. Castiel can’t count the number of meetings they’ve had exactly like this. “I made some calls to get a couple of hunters to check out Sabrina’s house.”

“And she had a friend, right?” Dean says next to Castiel. He has a hand gripped on the back of Castiel’s chair. There’s conviction in his voice, like if he says it with enough confidence, then it has to be true. Castiel hopes that it works, for his own sake. 

Sam shakes his head, causing his hair to sway side to side. His lips are pressed in a thin line. He looks down at the closed book in front of him and the laptop that’s half opened. “No. They didn’t find anything like that–”

“But they found something?” Dean interjects. 

“Well, if you let me explain, then you’ll know,” Sam tells him in a huff. Dean bristles and Castiel pats his arm to pacify him without thinking about it first. Normally, Castiel wouldn’t think twice about comforting Dean with a gentle touch. But then again, normally it doesn’t cause his throat to itch. The light pat does manage to settle Dean down a bit, though. Sam continues, “She kept a journal. Cas’s name wasn’t–”

“What if we ganked her before she could write it down?” Dean interrupts. Sam’s nostrils flare in irritation. “If it was outta spite and not one of her sick fantasies, then Cas wouldn’t be in that book.” He looks both desperate and pleased with himself at the same time. He’s definitely not wrong, and Castiel finds himself looking at Sam almost as eagerly Dean is. 

Sam sighs and purses his lips. “Dean, I think we can already assume that she did it. What I was  _ saying _ was that because she didn’t have Cas’s name listed, she also didn’t have  _ how  _ she infected him listed. Blake and Corrine were both given sigils that they had to be continuously exposed to. Cas, what? Was only maybe in contact with her once?”

“Should we wait it out, then?” Castiel asks. He’s slowly becoming irritated that they are discussing an issue that very clearly involves him like he’s not in the room. “There’s no way for me to be exposed to Sabrina anymore, so the curse shouldn’t run its course.” 

Sam nods. Castiel sneaks a quick glance at Dean, who looks very hopeful. He throws Cas a small smile. Sam doesn’t share the enthusiasm. “We still have to figure out what to do if it doesn’t go away, guys,” he says solemnly. Dean’s small smile is quick to disappear, but he keeps his eyes on Cas. 

Dean ducks down slightly so he can look up at Cas’s face. It’s a move he does when he wants to comfort and look less threatening. It always works when interviewing victims and also never fails to make Cas’s heart flutter. His face looks like it’s in so much pain, though, something that Cas knows makes this action different from  anything he would do for a stranger . The itch in Castiel’s throat intensifies. “Cas,” Dean says carefully, his words forced, “have you considered telling… the person you, like, love? Like telling them that you… love them.” Once he finishes talking, he clenches his jaw and breathes slowly through his nose. 

Cas blinks at him for a moment, processing his thoughts. So, his thoughts about Dean not knowing are confirmed. Which still doesn’t make sense because he very blatantly told Dean that he loved him. This is still very awkward, because the other two in the room know very well who the person who he is in love with is. He’s sitting right next to him. Sam lets out a harsh short laugh that he tries to disguise with a sneeze and Jack has his head in his hands. 

“I can’t,” is all Castiel offers. 

Dean’s head snaps up. “Why not? This is your life, Cas!” He grabs Castiel's wrist, like he’s somehow going to lead Cas to the person he loves. “I’ll find them if I have to!”

Castiel leans away from him and tugs his arm away. How does Dean not know it's him? Isn’t it obvious? Does he really not know? Castiel can feel his heart squeezing in between his lungs that are cutting off his breathing. He almost wishes Dean would flat out say he doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe that will instantly kill him, and he won’t have to live with the fact that not only does Dean not realize that Castiel is in love him, but that he also just can’t see Castiel’s love that way. This whole time Castiel had thought he was living in a limbo where Dean was actively choosing not to acknowledge Castiel’s confession. Now, Castiel is learning that Dean doesn’t even know. 

Cas quickly turns in his chair and starts coughing. Luckily, Sam’s quick enough to put the small trash can they keep in the library under him. He recoils away from Dean’s hand that starts rubbing his back. A pile of petals fall from his mouth, followed by a few extra ones he has to force out of his airway, all small and white. 

Staring down at them he contemplates what to do now. Before, it was almost relieving to have Dean not say anything about his feelings and just keep their good friendship. Dean seemed to know how Castiel felt, and although he never said anything, he was comfortable with remaining friends. Now Castiel knows that they are very much not on the same page. 

He sits back up in his chair and breathes heavily, then wipes the spittle from his chin on his sleeve. If he hadn’t hacked up a garden into the garbage, maybe he would feel more embarrassed about it. He notices that Dean is farther away then he was moments ago.

Sam lets him catch his breath before continuing. He seems hesitant about the information he is about to provide. “There’s a counter spell that can get rid of any flowers or roots that are growing.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling. Jack seems to perk up at this, but Castiel can tell by Sam’s tone that there’s more to it. “It basically kills off the curse by taking away what it feeds on.”

Castiel isn’t sure if he would be relieved or not to have his unrequited love for Dean taken away. On one hand, he wouldn’t have deal with his own feelings and walk on eggshells around Dean. On the other hand, his feelings for Dean are one of his favorite aspects of humanity. 

“Well, if the dirtbag doesn’t love you back, Cas, then I say go through with it,” Dean tells him, His voice immediately reminds Castiel of a child. There’s even a smirk on his face like he’s proud that he came up with such a “great” idea. Castiel has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He’s glad that Sam continues talking so he doesn’t have to acknowledge that Dean said anything. 

“The spell would kill any love you have, Cas. You’d be incapable of feeling any.” 

“No,” is Castiel’s immediate response. He doesn’t even think it through before objecting. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to give up his love for Dean, but he knows for sure that he could never give up his love as a whole. The reason he fell for humanity so easily was because he  _ loved  _ them. He’s learned to love their efforts to be better. He loves the humans, as a miracle of his father’s work and individually. His small family is the best thing to happen to him in his long, drawn-out life. Castiel would rather die than lose that. He has. 

Everyone seems to understand where he is coming from, thankfully. Nobody says a word or tries to convince him otherwise. Sam nods, understanding. He would, Castiel thinks, out of all of them, Sam would know what it feels like to not feel love. 

“I don’t want to die,” he tells his small family. “I don't want die, but I don’t think I could live like that.” 

For some reason his eyes automatically lock with Dean’s. “I don’t want to die.”

“I won’t let you,” Dean tells him in a strong voice. Castiel can’t help but believe him. 

* * *

 

A week passes. The rest of the people in the bunker alternate between walking on eggshells around Castiel and fretting over him. Dean is always either on the opposite side of the room from him or invading his space and checking up on him. It’s would be comforting if it didn’t always end with him hacking up flowers and petals. 

Each day is harder than the day before. His throat begins to feel so torn and worn that it’s even hard to swallow food. What’s also hard to deal with is how easily they have all have fallen into a routine of pretending everything is alright. Nobody is pretending that the situation isn’t a problem, but it’s definitely being downplayed. Sam is still nose deep in books and the light from his laptop is always on his face. That’s normal, but what isn’t normal is that all the research both the Winchesters are doing is to find a way to prevent Castiel from dying.

The way they all seem to bounce back after Cas coughs up a few petals into his napkin at dinner is disturbing. 

As the week goes on, the hope that the curse will fade out due to Sabrina’s absence also fades. It gets worse. He starts coughing more and more. The deconstructed flowers are eventually mixed with a few whole ones. It becomes apparent which flowers the curse is producing the most, which happen to correspond to what he is feeling the most, lately. Castiel will admit that it may have been masochistic to look up the meanings. 

The tiny white petals come from a lilac and symbolize humility. The first time Castiel saw them was in the bathroom with Dean during that embarrassing moment when Dean saw that he was sick. Recently, they’ve started appearing in clusters together as they would appear on a bush. At the time, he was worried that Dean might make the connection that Castiel’s feeling for him were what the curse was feeding on. Now the flowers represent the humiliation of his unrequited feelings and the shame he feels for putting his family through this. 

After he has particularly intimate moments with Dean that consist of soft touches and comforting words that tell him he’ll be alright, he gets more white flowers, this time bigger and wider with ruffled edges that taper to a point. Gardenias indicate secret love. That one is self-explanatory. 

The last flower is the short, purple petals of the anemone. Forsakenness. The curse was able to decipher Castiel’s lost hope before he could. Anemone can also mean illness or bad luck. Either one accurately describes Castiel’s current state. 

It’s on the seventh day after he coughed up the first petal, that Castiel agrees to go through with the counter-spell. He can’t take the way his friends look at him like a dead man walking. Sam’s exhausted himself trying to find a way to help him. Jack has done his best to try to soothe the pain of his raw torn throat. And Dean, ever loyal and unknowingly doing damage, has been at Castiel’s beck and call. If only Dean had been so willing to listen to him in previous situations. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to tell Dean how he feels. The reason it was so easy before was that he thought he wouldn’t have to live to face the consequences of his confession. If he says anything now, will the curse finish him off? Or will he have to spend the last of his days living with Dean’s official rejection? Either way, he won’t put Dean through that. Dean may not have a mutual affection for Castiel, but he knows that he’s family to him. He wouldn’t want Dean to live with the fact that his friend is dead because of something Castiel was dealing with, because of his own love for Dean. 

There’s also the issue of Jack. He can’t leave the boy, not when he needs so much guidance. He’s sure that Sam and Dean would do their best, but they won’t be able to take up the angel aspect of Jack’s training. 

He tells Dean first that he’s going to through with the spell. Dean is fidgeting and eyeing the door of Castiel’s room. He clearly wants to escape. It’s reflective of the way he’s been acting when he’s alone with Castiel this past week. It hurts Castiel to know Dean doesn’t want to spend time alone with him when his days are numbered. Despite that, Dean hadn’t hesitated to follow Cas into his room when he asked. 

Dean doesn’t say anything at first. He looks at Castiel with wet eyes and a sadness that Castiel wishes he could take away. Maybe, Castiel fantasizes, maybe he’s sad for what could have been. Even if Dean doesn’t share the same feelings as Castiel did, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel something akin to it. Somewhere along the line, they might have gotten to where Castiel has always wanted them to be. Someplace where feelings are acknowledged the for the first time, and not misconceived or overlooked. This would be the same place where confusion about where they stand with each other would be non-existent. 

Castiel could kiss his stupid human face and tell him intimate details that he could never tell Dean in their current relationship. Castiel could fix his nest so it could accommodate Dean. He would never have to think about what could be, because it already was. But right now, at this moment, all he can do is look Dean in the eye and silently apologize. He knows Dean wouldn't want this for him; Castiel doesn’t even want it for himself. Dean also doesn’t deserve another dead friend. 

“I’ll support you, Cas. No matter what you do,” Dean tells him. “We’ll find a way to fix you after, Cas. It’s what we do.” 

Castiel doesn’t want to go in for a hug, but it might be the last time he can hug Dean and feel the emotional warmth of it. He curls his arms around Dean’s torso and places his head on Dean’s shoulder. He presses his face there firmly, trying to breathe in the scent of Dean. Dean wraps his arms around his shoulders and turns his face into Castiel’s hair. The second Dean leaves, Castiel knows he’s going to cough up more flower parts. The thought makes him hold Dean closer.  

He tries to tell Jack, but he’s locked himself in his room. Other than the few healing treatments, Jack has been keeping his distance from him. It must be heartbreaking for him to be on the edge of losing another parent. 

Before he goes to Sam and gathers what they need for supplies, he takes a moment to write letters for his loved ones, two for each person. One will be given to them, to remind them that, although he might be incapable of feeling or showing his love, it’s there. The second will be for himself. Each one of those will list reasons why he loves that person. He’ll keep those in his room, pinned up on the wall. 

There are letters for Jack and Claire, both detailing how important they are to him, and thanking them for giving him the opportunity to be a guardian to them, no matter how strange the circumstances. He hopes one day they can formally meet and become friends. 

He writes a pair for Mary, letting her know that he has admired her despite knowing her for such a short time. He tells her that her boys might need her after the spell is completed and Castiel is cured. 

Another for Sam, who has been the best of friends to Castiel and the smartest human he knows. He has charted every one of their late night conversations about the universe.

The last is for Dean. It’s lengthy and sloppy. He gets carried away and lists things about Dean that he’ll miss the most. Things like the way he gets angry if someone moves the magnetic kitchen timer on the fridge, and when he’s so angry he’s on the verge of tears. The page slowly fills until Castiel stops, not because he wants to, but because he’s spewing petals into the trash can by his desk. 

It comes as a surprise when Sam refuses to help him with the counterspell. He has taken all the information on it and hidden it, or at least made it harder for Castiel to get to. The way Sam is holding his papers and laptop close to his chest makes Castiel think that the contents are in them. 

“You don’t want to do this, Cas. Trust me,” Sam informs him. And he is right, Castiel doesn’t. “Maybe you think that you should stick around, because you would still be useful without feeling love, Cas, but that’s not a way to live,” Sam pleads with him. 

Dean and Jack, who have shown up to assist with the spell any way they can, remain quiet. 

Castiel wants to rebuke Sam’s claims. He tries to find a way to explain that he’s not doing this to be  _ useful _ , but because… He wishes he could just say he doesn’t want to die, but in reality, it might actually be because he is still in the same old rut of trying to be  _ useful _ . He’d tried earlier to say it was for the sake of Dean, but that was just to cover the fact that he wants to do the spell in order to stick around and be of use to them. Objectively, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. His feelings won’t get in the way of things and he can be the perfect helper for hunts, and because he won’t feel love or seek it, it shouldn’t cause him more distress. 

Even as he processes these thoughts, he realizes how absurd and irrational they are. He wanted to the spell to fulfill some sense of usefulness that he thought was diminished, and even more, because he doesn’t want to  _ die.  _

And it takes Sam, Sam who had to go through being  _ soulless  _ and uncaring, who had experience with not feeling love towards others, to convince that this was the wrong choice. 

“And plus, you don’t have to,” Sam says in a whisper. He looks obviously at Jack, which makes Castiel do the same. Jack’s eyes enlarge and he looks scared. He shakes his head from side to side, his mouth pinched. 

“Sam, we  _ can’t _ ,” Jack pleads. 

Sam shakes his head again. He holds the info to his chest a little tighter. “Jack, we can tell them.”

Dean squints at them suspiciously. He had told Castiel that he believed that Sam and Jack were up to something, and at the time Castiel had placated Dean and told him it was fine. Castiel had figured out that they were developing some type of scheme to get Dean and him together. He had hoped that because of their current situation, both of them would stand down. 

Dean takes a look at both of them, just as confused as Castiel is. Castiel has to physically restrain himself from throwing something. Out of all the times that they want to pull their weird romantic stunts, they choose now? Not to be dramatic, but this moment should be about Castiel. He  _ is  _ the one dying. 

“You know what? Enough of this crap,” Dean interjects. He stomps his foot and clenches his fists. “Are we going through with the spell or not?” 

“No,” Castiel answers. Dean seems to calm down next to him, but is still agitated by the other two. Sam has convinced Castiel not to go through with the spell, but that still doesn’t explain his or Jack’s behavior.  

“Cas, Dean,” Sam says with a hesitant smile. It’s full of trust and hesitancy. “I—well, we–” he glances at Jack, who looks like he’s a second away from running out of the room. “We think you may both be in love with each other.” 

In the very next second, Jack flies out of the room, leaving nothing but the space he was occupying and an empty nougat wrapper falling gracefully to the floor. Castiel doesn’t have too long to think about Jack’s disappearance. In the next second Dean, red-faced, starts spouting nonsense next to him. 

“That’s not—what? Sam, shut your  _ face-hole _ . How can you say that!” he exclaims, each word reaching a higher pitch as it progresses on. “That’s not right!” If this wasn’t such a  confusing moment, Castiel might be more amused by how he is acting. Too bad he feels his heartbreak instead. 

Before Castiel can properly question Sam’s comment, he is suddenly struck by the  _ worst  _ pain the curse has given him. It causes his body to completely double over and he has to reach out to grab a chair to keep himself up. The stabbing pain starts in his sides and radiates across his chest. The pain becomes a pressure that squeezes the air out of his lungs. He gags loudly a few times before he feels the horrifyingly familiar feeling of flowers pushing up his throat. For a moment he feels like he might choke. 

He moves away from Dean’s hand, which reaches out to try to comfort him. The last thing Castiel wants to feel right now is someone touching him, not when he feels so disgusted with himself. 

It takes one more heave from his ribs, and he watches as a large yellow ruffled flower falls to the floor from his mouth, followed by a few stray petals. He knows right away it’s a carnation, but its actual meaning is unknown to him.

Castiel manages to catch his breath for a brief moment. His lungs filling with air is relieving for one short moment. That is, until he hacks up another large carnation. Another one follows that one. It becomes a pattern. Each soothing breath in is just a break before the discomfort of coughing up another flower. After the fourth one, he can’t keep himself upright, and Dean has to get on his knee next to him and hold him up. Sam’s there too, hovering by his side, thankfully not putting his hands on him. Castiel isn’t even sure if Dean’s own helpful hold is actually helping him or agitating the curse. They both stay by him as he continues throwing up the flowers on the floor. 

In total he ends up with seven fully blossomed flowers on the floor, along with a scattering of petals. All a saturated yellow, and all slightly damp. The smell of acid and floral sweetness fill the air. Somehow he’s been pulled more into Dean’s lap than originally. He feels too sluggish to get off. Even the sounds of the Winchesters trying to talk to him sound muffled and slow. 

_Maybe_ _this is it,_ he thinks. His body feels like it’s giving out and his breathing is slowing down. When his eyes slip shut, he’s positive it’s for the last time. 

♦

Castiel’s next conscious thought is that he can’t decide if he is dead and back in The Empty, or if the darkness that he’s in now is a product of his sickly state. It’s all too similar to when he’d returned to the bunker after his most recent escapade with death. It may be dramatic, but dying seconds after being rejected by the love of his life would almost be enough to make up for the amount of humiliation he would face. Despite that, dying is not ideal. 

The familiar state he’s in now gives him the idea to search for the small amount of grace that still resides in his body. Castiel hasn’t given much thought to it till now. He hasn’t had to. Not that he has forgotten about it—his grace is very much a part of him. He doesn’t use it for anything anymore, so he’s never had to consider its state or evaluate its integrity He had simply concluded that Jack’s grace would heal his, and that would be that. Besides, with his added weakened state thanks to this curse, his grace has definitely not been of any use. 

He does find it, which is a sign that he’s most likely still alive and just immobile. It’s shriveled up, and the roots that the curse produces grow through it. Castiel can’t help but feel ashamed. This is, after all, part of himself and it’s destroyed. He tries drawing a little of its already minuscule power, so he can try to wake himself or numb the ache that radiates in his lungs and throat. It begins to flow in the direction he wants,\ but then is stopped and pulled back. Something is holding it back and preventing it from doing what Castiel wants it to. 

He tries calling upon it again. This time, he sees the magic from the curse piercing it and holding it down. It won’t let his grace heal him even the most minuscule amount. Also, the magic seems familiar. Something about the way it flowers and how its tendrils push through the roots in his lungs reminds him of something he knows. He just can’t place it. It’s certainly not witch magic, as he has come face to face with that. It’s strange, pure and light where it should be dark and ill-willed. 

It instantly reminds him Jack. A being of great power whose origins may be satanic, but nonetheless, very good at heart. 

The more he evaluates the magic essence of the curse, the more he makes a shocking, morbid connection. The reason that this power source is similar to Jack’s grace, is because it is Jack’s grace. He tries to imagine a reason why it would run through the veins of the curse—maybe it’s trying to help, perhaps trying to repair the damage. But then, why is it withholding Castiel’s grace and attacking it?

It occurs to him that the curse was not caused by Sabrina… but by Jack. 

His eyes opened urgently, staring right up at his ceiling. He needs to move and get to Jack, to find out why he did this. Was it intentional? Castiel’s fatherly affections for him tell him no. Jack doesn’t have full control of his powers, and a curse like this would take a lot of skill to put together. However, there still is a part of Castiel that can’t help but feel betrayal. His family, both on Earth and in Heaven, have hurt him in various ways. As much as he doesn't want to believe that Jack would purposely put him in danger, it’s not impossible. It might also explain how strange Jack’s been acting. If this was an act of malicious intent, Castiel can’t just lie here in bed. 

Castiel tries to push himself up into a sitting position, but his body is weak from the curse’s most recent attack. It’s surprising that he’s even awake right now. He should be dead, shouldn’t he? Dean rejected him. Then again, this is Jack’s curse, so Castiel’s not sure what’s going on anymore. 

It’s upsetting to find that no one is in his room with him. Maybe it’s the mentality he’s in right now, but to wake up while on the brink of death, and find none of his family members in the room adds to his depression. Realistically, he knows they are probably all trying to find a way to save him. It still doesn’t change the fact that he's never felt more alone than at this moment. 

This isn't even the first time he’s experienced the feeling of impending death. However, this is nothing like those other times. This isn’t some sacrifice for the greater good. It is a product of his unchecked feelings and whatever Jack had done to him. Both are things he doesn’t have any control over, yet still affected by his choices. He chose humanity and all the complicated emotions and habits that come along with it. He chose to help Kelly with Jack and ultimately integrate him into Cas’s own patchwork family. He doesn’t regret it, of course. Jack has become an important staple in his life, and he can’t bring himself to hate Jack. At least not when the all the facts still unknown. 

All those yellow flowers tore up his throat and mouth. When he takes a breath, and the air passes in and out of his mouth, it makes the raw blisters in his mouth sting. The taste of blood is on his tongue. The flowers he’s been coughing up always leave a rawness in his mouth, but they haven’t made him bleed before. He forces himself to swallow the blood when there’s too much for him to keep in his mouth. It’s like swallowing tiny pieces of glass. 

He knows the roots are only growing in his lungs, but it feels like they are running through every vein in his body. Castiel can move slightly, but each movement is stiff. Even the most minuscule, like waving his fingers, makes him feel like his joints are locked up. His throat itches, a sign he’s come to know. 

He wishes that Dean were here. Well, anyone would do to satisfy his need for companionship, but Dean is the person he most wants to be here right now. It’s selfish, he knows. Castiel shouldn’t want Dean to be here to watch him die; Dean’s seen enough of that. But it’s a soothing thought, that Dean’s face would be the last one he sees. Maybe it would make everything he has been through, and is currently going through, worth it. 

A cough shakes his whole chest. As it rips from his throat, he cries out. He has to turn his head to the side to keep the blood and petals he just coughed up from sitting in the back of his throat and choking him. Just like the rest of his body, his neck is taut and stiff. Plus, the combination of the blisters and petals lodged in his airway make a simple movement even more agonizing. 

Castiel wonders if would be better to let the curse finish him, or if he should push forward and last try to last longer. He doesn’t want to die, but he his body refuses to cooperate. He can’t physically call out for help and let them know that the curse wasn’t caused by a witch. Given his options, it seems that he doesn’t have a choice.  

He wishes that the last attack of the curse had ended him. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever this is now. He wouldn’t be thinking about his unrequited love for Dean Winchester and how it led to his death. In an awful twisted way, it’s almost symbolic. His brothers and sisters always told him that Dean Winchester was no good, and that Castiel would meet his demise if he chose to care for the man and stay at his side. 

And look where he is now; dying because he chose to stay with Dean and ended up falling in love with him. Also, dying because his pseudo-son—the son of Satan—cursed him, but that’s not the point. 

It was once said that Castiel felt too much, and that was what made him less of an angel. Now that he’s in one of the lowest moments of his life, he can say that it's definitely true. He loved humanity—and one specific human—so he sacrificed his place in heaven for him. For Dean, he fell in every way. He felt injustice and sadness as angel. As a human, he’s felt some of the worst pain he has ever felt in his long celestial life. Maybe as an angel, he wouldn’t have had to face these troubles, face this heartbreak and rejection. Yet, despite the fact that these years on earth have contained some of the hardest and most traumatic moments of his life, he knows that they also made him feel the most alive he ever has. 

His whole body shakes. It’s not easy to tell if it’s because he’s filled with so much emotion his body can’t take it, or if his body is finally giving way fully to the curse. Castiel begins to cry silent tears. 

He coughs and heaves, each one racking his body in ways he can’t control and causing pain. A flower comes up the back of his throat and he gags. He does his best to spit it out, but his limited control of his body makes it hard. Castiel manages pushes it out of his mouth with his tongue, but it leaves fallen petals in his mouth. 

He coughs again and feels another flower in his throat. He heaves, and his ribs constrict around his lungs, but instead of coughing up more flowers and petals, the flower in his throat doesn’t budge. He gags, and still it refuses to leave, blocking his airway. His inhales hurt, and as he exhales, a wheezing sound comes out of his throat. 

This is how Blake died, isn’t it? The flowers and roots have infested his body so much that it cut off his air supply and contaminated his lungs? 

He tries to shout again to get someone's attention, but the flowers have made his voice useless. His body starts convulsing in small twitches, like it’s trying to fight off his impending death. 

Castiel doesn’t want to die. As many times as he has thought it would be better if he were dead, and as often as he’s been ready to sacrifice himself, he still doesn’t want to die. 

Someone gently touches the side of his face that isn’t pressed into the pillow. Just the light touch of fingertips on his face is enough to make the muscles in his face twitch. The hand strokes his cheek and Castiel instantly knows it’s Dean. He gasps at the realization and that causes the flower lodged in his throat to finally push up into his mouth. He coughs it out onto the pillow and splutters for air. It’s still hard to breathe, but at least his airway is free of obstruction and more can pass through. He can still feel petals in his throat and some stuck to places in his mouth. 

Dean cups his cheek and wipes away the spit and blood at the corners of his mouth. He takes his other hand and slips it under Castiel’s other cheek to turn his head towards him. Dean kneels at his bedside, biting his lip and stroking along Castiel’s cheekbones. 

“How you doing buddy?” Dean asks him in a quiet voice. His eyes are wet and red. “You had me scared for a second.” He gives Castiel a small smile. It’s the saddest smile Castiel thinks he’s ever seen. 

He opens his mouth to tell Dean about Jack, but he can only croak out jumbled sounds. It makes him panic, not being able to tell Dean what he needs to. Castiel keeps trying, but his words aren’t words. Any sound he manages to make feels like it’s being dragged roughly out of throat. Dean shushes him. 

It occurs to Castiel that maybe Dean’s here so he won’t have to die alone. It’s exactly what he’d wished for, just seconds ago, but now he’s finding that it makes this more difficult. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Dean tells him. 

Castiel wishes he had more control of his voice and body so he could snort and say, “Oh? You think so?” 

Instead, he watches Dean’s face, like he always does. He hopes wherever he goes after this, he has a consciousness that can conjure up Dean’s face. Maybe then the afterlife wouldn’t be so bad. 

Dean adjusts his head again. This time so it’s angled slightly off the pillow and parallel to Dean’s. Dean takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. Castiel knows him well enough to realize that Dean looks nervous. 

Castiel wonders if he died the moment Dean brings his face closer to his, because that’s the only thing that would explain why Dean has his lips on top of Castiel’s. Dean shouldn’t be kissing him, because Castiel has blood on his lips and his breath is rancid and floral, and Dean shouldn’t be kissing him, because that would imply that Dean might actually return his feelings. 

Truthfully, this shouldn’t be considered kissing. All Dean is doing is pressing his lips against Castiel’s. It’s such a simple action. As much as Castiel would love to take this moment as a happy event, all Dean has succeeded in is making it harder for Castiel to breathe. Still, if there is any moment the  _ curse  _ is finally going to kill him, he fully expects it to be this moment. 

Castiel is about to turn his head away to try to inhale as much air as he can, but instead, he suddenly gasps, his lungs filling up fully. Dean pulls away from him but stays hovering over him. There’s a strange ache, but his breath is nowhere near as painful as it was seconds ago. The tightness and the roots he can feel in his throat seem to slowly be retracting. The blisters in his mouth seem to be soothed, and when Castiel sweeps his tongue around his mouth, there’s not a petal he can find. The taste of blood and dirt seems to evaporate, too. His body loosens, feels relaxed. 

When he checks on Jack’s grace, he notices  that it seems to be taking up all the essence of the curse and purifying it. It even begins mending Castiel’s own grace. It’s interesting, considering Jack’s grace was the one causing the damage in the first place. It also reminds him that that is something that needs to be addressed eventually. 

But instead, he grabs Dean by the shoulders and pulls him in for what Castiel is going to consider their real first kiss. Dean makes a surprised noise and presses Castiel deeper into the pillow, both of them opening their mouths wider. Dean goes from kneeling by the side of the bed, to planting his elbows on either side of Castiel’s head and haphazardly climbing on the bed and Cas.   

Castiel alternates between grinning so wide that a proper kiss isn’t manageable and kissing Dean so deeply it leaves him breathless. Breathless in a  _ much _ better way, of course. 

Dean pulls away with a big smile and slick lips. Frankly, it’s rude. Castiel was just  _ dying _ , and Dean had the audacity to kiss him and then just  _ stop _ . As Dean sits up, Castiel surges forward and grabs Dean’s shoulders again, this time gripping the fabric of Dean’s button-up. He sits up along with Dean and resumes kissing him with quick kisses that he manages to land through Dean’s laughter. 

Dean gives him one deep, open-mouth kiss that makes Castiel want to pull Dean back on top of him. He’s stopped by Dean pushing him away gently. Castiel watches his lips mouth words he can’t hear. Their kiss has left him dizzy and slow.

“What?”

Dean laughs. His face is red and Castiel is sure his is too. “We have to let the others know you're not dead, Cas.” 

Dean is right, but that still doesn’t stop Cas for going in for one more kiss. He’s eager, so it’s sloppy with a little too much spit. Having Dean capture his mouth is far preferable to spitting up flowers. 

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean finally stands and extends a hand to him. Castiel meets its grasp and pulls himself off the bed. His legs are a little shaky, but strangely so. 

Dean tries leading him out of the room, but Castiel doesn’t follow. They still have to talk about what exactly Dean did to break the curse. The obvious answer is that Dean returns his feelings, and that kissing him was the most efficient way to express that. If so, Castiel isn’t complaining. Still, when Sam had outed him, he was sure that Dean’s freak out was about Castiel’s feelings for him. It seems, though, that Sam must have had some kind of inside information about Dean’s feelings. Castiel is interested in the steps Dean took to get here. 

When he notices that Castiel hasn’t moved, Dean turns back towards him, confused. Or maybe he’s nervous. Talking about how he truly feels has always been something Dean struggles with. He has made a breakthrough recently

Dean sighs. “I know, I know,” he says with embarrassment. He squeezes Castiel’s hand and gives him an apologetic smile. “Can we do this later? After we let Sam and Jack know you're not, like, dying.” 

Castiel understands the urgency, but he suspects Dean might be postponing the conversation. As much as he wants verbal confirmation that Dean does in fact like him  _ in that way _ , he wants Dean to be able to say it at his own pace. Although, it feels like he has been waiting an awfully long time for a moment like this, so hopefully, it won’t take him too long. “Of course,” he tells him. Dean instantly looks more relaxed. 

Dean goes to lead him out, still hand in hand. Again, Castiel doesn’t budge. He needs to tell Dean about Jack, but he’s not sure how. He isn’t sure why Jack’s grace was being so hostile. He’s not even sure how? The last time he checked on Jack’s grace it was  _ healing  _ him. There’s no reason he can think of for why it would suddenly be intent on killing him. He’s almost positive that Jack wouldn’t want him dead. In fact, he’s completely positive. He just needs to find a way to explain that to Dean. 

Dean is watching him carefully, with a soft look. He swings their clasped hands slightly, to remind Castiel that he’s here. It makes it easier for Castiel to look him in the eye. 

“Sabrina didn’t curse me,” he starts. Dean’s perplexed look isn’t unwarranted. Castiel bites his lip. He’s not sure how Dean will react to the news, but it’s better he knows. It’s the first time since Castiel’s been human that he is sure he wants to be free of secrets. “I think Jack—that Jack had something to do with it.” 

Dean purses his lips and looks away. It’s almost nice to see Dean be the one confused for a change. “Okay…” He nods slowly. “Explain.”

Castiel sighs. He hates that he has to explain something he doesn’t fully understand. “When I was in that catatonic state, I was able to sense the magic that was running in my body more deeply. I expected to see the dark magic that’s usually associated with witches, but instead…”

Dean raises his eyebrows and urges him to continue. 

“Jack’s grace was there. It was attacking my grace and producing the same effect as Sabrina’s curse.”

Dean takes a moment to absorb the information. When he looks like he’s understood what Castiel is saying, he asks carefully, “Do you think Jack wanted to… hurt you?” He says it with a mix of disbelief and uncertainty. 

“No, of course not,” Cas responds. 

“Okay, cool, because I don’t think Jack would do anything to hurt you. You're like his favorite person in the world,” he tells him. Castiel feels flustered at his words. Dean reaches out and cups the side of his face. “The kid looks up to you, Cas.” 

Castiel places his hands on top of Dean’s. “Let’s go find him.”

* * *

Sam happens to be just outside Castiel’s door when they exit the room. He is leaning on the opposite wall, looking  _ very _ casual. Seconds later he pulls Castiel into a hug. Castiel pats his back in return. He’s very thankful to have a friend like Sam. It’s in this moment he realizes that he never considered what his death would have been like for Sam. He wonders if Sam’s announcement about Dean and Castiel’s feelings for each other had anything to do with Dean breaking the curse. Castiel hugs Sam back a little harder.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel tells him sincerely. Sam’s friendship is something that he feels like he’s taken for granted. It makes him feel guilty. “You have been much help.” 

Sam gives him small, appreciative smile that he feels he doesn’t observe. “No problem, man.” Castiel knows that he means it. Sam rarely ever sees having to help his family as a problem. 

“I know that you bros are having a moment,” Dean cuts in with a laugh. “But we still have a situation.” Sam goes from looking happy to taken aback. It’s understandable. Every time they feel like they’ve made it, they run into another problem. 

Castiel already suspects that Sam had been waiting at the door to see if Castiel made it out alive, but he isn’t sure how much Sam heard.  By the look on his face, it's apparent that Sam doesn’t have a clue what they're talking about. Castiel’s grateful, as he’s sure that he and Dean weren’t being very quiet. 

They fill Sam on the issue with Jack’s grace. Sam’s facial expressions go from confused to worried. Castiel knows that Jack was primarily in Sam’s care while Castiel was gone. Their bond is different from his own with Jack. He’s always sensed that Sam enjoys being a mentor, and Jack was perfect student. The added family aspect of their relationship made the bond stronger. 

When Castiel finishes explaining, Sam looks thoughtfully down the hall to where Jack must be. “I think I might know what happened,” Sam sighs. He rubs the back of his neck and twists his mouth into a frown. “But don’t get mad at us.”

“Of course, not,” Castiel tells him. Dean doesn’t look convinced.

Sam grimaces and purses his lips. “Okay, so,” he flips his hands in the air nonchalantly, “Jack—well, Jack  _ and _ I, have kinda been trying to get you two… to fall in love? Realize you’re both in love with each other? We never really figured out what the situation between you both was.”

Castiel nods. “I thought that’s what you two were doing,” Castiel says at the same time Dean exclaims, “Is that what you were doing!” 

Both of them look at him, surprised, but he simmers down. Castiel remembers that Dean had been speculating that something was going on between the two; only now is he connecting the dots. “The grocery store, Sam! At the grocery store. You were saying how  _ great  _ Cas was and how  _ strong!  _ You called him  _ good-looking _ .” Castiel smiles at how exasperated Dean looks at this revelation. 

“I’m very flattered Sam,” Castiel deadpans. Sam chuckles and Dean pouts. Castiel imagines Dean must feel very duped. Castiel finds Sam and Jack’s efforts sweet in a weird kind of way. But while he appreciates it, he’s still doesn’t understand what all that has to do with Jack’s actions. 

“Yeah, and Jack was  _ really  _ hoping you guys would get together,” Sam continues. “He thought it would be great for both of you.” He shrugs and gives them a small smile. “I think so too.” Castiel glances at Dean, who is looking away with a flushed face. Castiel slips his hand into Dean’s, so they clasp together. He squeezes it and rubs his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. 

Dean is the one to piece it together. “You're saying that he wanted Cas and me to be… you know,” he starts out slowly, “so he cursed Cas?” 

Sam nods solemnly. 

All three of them are displeased with the conclusion. Surely, Jack must have known that putting Castiel through that wasn’t right? Castiel can’t picture Jack plotting like that. Did the curse result in Castiel and Dean coming together? Yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that it caused all of them, mostly Castiel, pain and suffering. 

“It couldn’t have been on purpose,” Dean amends. Sam agrees. Castiel is relieved that he’s not the only that still has faith in Jack. “Kid’s powers are already triggered by his emotions. Some wires had to be crossed, and he might have gotten you sick because you matched up with Sabrina’s victims.”

Castiel’s glad Dean didn’t phrase it as, “You thought your love for me was unrequited just like Blake’s for his friend.” Castiel’s already embarrassed enough that they came together because he was on the verge of dying and that their first kiss was kind of gross. In all his fantasies that involved Dean and him getting together, he never imagined it being as traumatizing as it was. Then again, it does fit the pattern of their lives. 

“Have you seen Jack?” Castiel asks Sam. The last time he’d seen him was right before he started regurgitating flowers on the library’s hardwood floors. Jack had disappeared swiftly and Castiel hadn’t given it much thought. 

Sam shakes his head. “I’m assuming that he went to his room. That’s where he likes to be alone—unless he left the bunker.” 

They all give the statement a quick thought before they swiftly start running towards Jack’s room. The last thing any of them want is for Jack to run away thinking he killed Castiel—that is, if he knows what he did. Despite the fact that he is an all-powerful being with limited control, they all love him. The thought of Jack leaving makes Castiel’s heartbreak. 

They all reach Jack’s door at the same time. Castiel is the one to open it, but they all try fitting through at the same time. Eventually, they manage to squeeze themselves in Jack’s room. The first thing Castiel notices is that Jack isn’t visible, although he suspects that he may be under the mound of blankets. The second thing he takes in is the numerous candy wrappers that litter the bed and floor. Some of them are empty, but others are half eaten. He makes a note to talk about coping mechanisms with Jack.

“Hey, Bud?” Dean inquires. There’s no verbal answer, but the blankets shuffle slightly. They all make eye contact and silently agree to move closer to the bed. 

“Jack,” Castiel calls. 

Suddenly the covers are thrown off. Jack sits up in his bed, staring at Castiel with amazement. The smile on his face is filled to the brim and over with happiness. He scrambles out of bed to stand in front of Castiel and the others. He stretches his arms out like he’s about to hug Castiel, but quickly pulls his arms back. The smile on his face slips away and is replaced with a forlorn gaze. He looks down at the ground between them. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. Castiel quickly steps closer to hug him. Sam and Dean crowd in too. Both place a hand on Jack. They all know from experience that Jack doesn’t handle emotional situations very well. Even now, he is mumbling over and over into Castiel’s shirt how sorry he is. Castiel takes this to mean he knows about the curse. It makes him go rigid; if Jack knows, then that might mean the curse on Castiel was intentional. 

“Why’d you do it?” Castiel asks after Jack has calmed down a little. He pulls away from him, but keeps him at arm's length. Sam and Dean are both on edge, Castiel can tell. They all want to believe that Jack is good despite his paternal lineage. 

Jack looks like he’s moments away from another breakdown. “I don’t know! I didn’t know till I saw you with the petals in the bathroom! I tried to heal you and I saw what my grace was doing.” He backs away from them and sits on his bed. He puts his hands over his face and groans. 

Cas places a hand on his shoulder. He glances at Dean, who looks just as lost as any of them. They have all been in the same position, blaming themselves for things that they couldn’t control. 

“Jack,” Dean says and moves in front of him. He reaches out to hold Castiel’s hand, which he gladly accepts. “We forgive you,” Dean tells him with conviction. It’s true. Never for a second did Castiel think he would be incapable of forgiving Jack, not when his unintentional motivations were so pure. 

Jack looks back up at him, his eyes wet. “What if I do it again?” he asks. 

Castiel can’t say something like this won’t happen again, so answers, “Then we figure out how to handle it. 

Jack doesn’t look any less worried. He stands up and takes a step closer to them. “What if I kill you?”

The question takes him by surprise. Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand in reassurance. “We’ll figure that out too,” Sam says. “It’s not like we’re good at staying dead anyway.”

“I wanted to say something,” Jack starts. Castiel wants to cut in and tell Jack that he doesn’t need to continue apologizing, but he feels like he should let Jack work out his feelings. If Jack needs to talk more about what has happened, than Castiel will gladly listen. He knows Sam and Dean will too. “When I found out it was me, I wanted to say something. But I wasn't sure how. I was scared you would all think I was a monster.”

“Jack–”

“And then we were all lying to each other!” Jack shouts, his voice speeding up. “Father was keeping his feelings for Dean a secret and it was  _ hurting _ him. And then Sam and I tried to makes things better, but all it did was make Father sick. Dean was lying to himself the whole time about loving Father and everything is  _ too much _ . I don’t understand why we lie, especially after promising not too.”

The room fills with silence after Jack’s emotional speech. 

“Welcome to humanity, kiddo,” Dean says after a beat. Castiel squints at him, but Dean continues. “We all fuck up, Jack. Frankly, if it wasn’t going to be you next, then it would have been one of us.”

“Dean!” Sam chastises him. Castiel agrees that it’s a tad insensitive. 

Dean shrugs. “I’m being honest. Jack, we’ve all–” he points at Sam, Cas, and himself, “–done our fair share of stupid shit that gets someone hurt, sometimes completely on accident, like you did. And sometimes? We’ve done it on purpose.” 

“That’s  _ awful _ ,” Jack says, frowning. 

“That’s life,” Sam adds. “At least ours.”

Jack confusion gradually falls away from his face, and is replaced with a look of contentment. “Well, okay,” he agrees with a small smile. It makes Castiel a bit sad that Jack has to learn about the crappy part of humanity, or least their own little piece of it. If he had his way, Jack would only ever see the beautiful parts. 

“Oh!” Dean says and holds up his and Castiel’s gripped hands. “We’re, like, a thing now?” He glances at Cas with a timid smile. “So, I mean, everything's not all that bad.”

Jack gives him that same smile from earlier and gives them both a hug. Sam, who has the longest arms, manages to wrap his around them all. 

Castiel doesn’t think that he and Dean being together is going to fix everything, although he would like it to. They still have things to work out, things that need to be said. Jack still needs to grow and learn. They all need to figure out how to properly adjust to living together when they aren't running around trying to save the world?

Later, after they realize it is way too late at night to continue hugging each other, and after many more apologies from Jack, they decide to separate. 

When they leave Jack, he looks thrilled with the fact that Castiel and Dean have come to some sort of breakthrough. Castiel could almost believe Jack and Sam are happier about his relationship with Dean than they are. It’s interesting to think that he and Dean have been doing their metaphorical dance for so long that others have begun to take notice. 

They all leave Jack’s room, this time in an orderly fashion. Sam throws them a wink over his shoulder and practically skips away. 

Now that he and Dean are alone, Castiel can’t help but become anxious about where they should go from here. 

Dean takes his hands, intertwining their fingers and locking them together. Castiel loves it. He’s only started holding Dean’s hand today, and he can picture doing it every day for the rest of his life. He can see them doing it while cooking or watching TV. Maybe even while Dean’s driving the Impala. They could even hold hands while walking around the bunker. 

Or maybe even in bed. 

Castiel has to cut off his thoughts there, before they get too carried away. 

He waits for Dean to say something, anything really. There’s so much they haven't had the time or capability to say. Instead, Dean pulls Castiel in the direction of his room. A warm ball forms in the pit of Castiel’s stomach, and his knees feel weak. It’s such a human reaction, Castiel can’t help but smile. 

* * *

 

Dean leads Castiel away to bed, and as always, Castiel happily follows. 

Dean’s never been more nervous in his life about taking someone to his room,  _ to his bed, specifically _ . He’s not nervous about anything sexual (he doesn’t even know if that’s where this is going), but he is nervous Cas because is going to want to  _ talk _ . Dean doesn’t know if he’s ready for that. He does feel like something needs to bed said. The poor guy was dying because he was madly, deeply in love with Dean, so he deserved at least a little bit of feelings talk, right? Dean knows he’s been all about opening his heart and what not, but he feels like he’s done too much of that recently. 

They make to his room and Castiel shuts the door behind him. Dean counts to three in his head and gets ready to tell Cas that he realized that he was in love with him at the grocery store and a clerk was judging him for it the whole time. Instead, he gets Castiel spinning him and shoving him up against the door, his hands clenched in Dean’s jacket. His grunt is muffled by Cas’s lips against his. Okay, so this is not where he’d planned on this going, but he’s definitely not complaining. 

Cas  _ devours  _ him. His kiss are slow and hard, not quite open-mouthed, but every once in a while, he’ll search out Dean’s tongue with his own. Just when Dean applies himself to it, Cas quickly pulls away and nibbles on Dean’s bottom lip. His hands slowly move down Dean’s shoulders to rest flat on his chest, pushing him even more firmly into the door, so that he can hear it strain behind him

Then Cas gifts him with a more aggressive kiss. This time, Dean makes sure he can get a taste of the inside of Cas’s mouth before he can close his lips. Cas doesn’t give him long to explore before he starts trailing his lips down and away from Dean’s mouth. First a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then two on the cheek, and one right under the hinge of his jaw. Dean turns his head and tries to chase after Cas’s mouth, but Cas manages to get right behind his ear and apply a small amount of suction. It makes Dean’s body shiver, and he smacks his head on the door, trying to make more room for Cas to explore the area. 

Dean finds Cas’s hips and pulls him closer. He tries changing his stance to get Cas’s hips to line up better with his. He feels Cas smile against his neck and then his mouth moves away and back up towards his jaw. Dean tries not to pout about him moving away from the sensitive place he was mouthing at. 

“We have to talk,” Cas says against his jaw. He kisses there once and moves so he can look Dean in the face. 

“Sure,” Dean says dumbly. The blood that should be in his head, giving him the ability to actually talk, is moving south and making his jeans very uncomfortable. 

Cas squints at him and looks amused. “I seem to have caught you off guard, Dean. Apologies.” Okay, but Cas doesn’t sound sorry  _ at all _ . And he has no business saying Dean’s name like that. 

“You’re off guard,” Dean replies, even though it makes no sense. He digs his fingers into the meat of Cas’s hips and slips just his thumbs under Cas’s shirt. 

Cas laughs at him, so Dean swoops in to give him another kiss. He catches his lips before Cas playfully shoves him away. “Dean.” He sounds serious, but he has a smile on his face.

Dean looks toward the ceiling. Start simple, he tells himself. Cas has known him for a long ass time and probably knows how difficult this is for him. That being said, Dean knows that it’s probably better to just get it over with. He takes a deep breath and confesses, “So, I guess I kinda like you and stuff.” Oh God, why would he say it like that? Cas was  _ dying  _ because he loves Dean, and that’s the best he can do?

Cas, thank god, doesn’t look put off. It makes Dean relax substantially. Cas is so  _ perfect _ ; of course he would be understanding. It almost makes Dean want to cry. It’s like every trial they've had to endure has amounted to this moment. It only makes sense that Dean would struggle, and it only makes sense that Cas would be there to walk him through it. 

Cas smiles at him and wraps his arms around Dean’s torso. “I kinda like you, too,” he replies before placing a quick, hard kiss to his lips. Dean feels a sudden burst of joy at Cas’s words and returns the kiss. 

“How long?” Dean asks as he pushes Cas backward towards the bed. He hadn’t expected himself to ask the question, but he does want to know and maybe he’s getting comfortable. 

Cas cups Dean’s face in both his hands and licks gently across Dean’s lips. It stops Dean’s thoughts for a split second, because  _ wow _ , that’s weird and kinda hot. He almost forgets to listen to what Cas is saying. 

“Is it dramatic if I say I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw your soul?” Cas is close enough that he sits at the end of the bed and looks up at Dean. 

Dean’s eyes actually tear up a little at Cas’s words. It distracts him from how close Cas’s face is to his not so hidden arousal. “You sap,” Dean says and swoops down so he’s level with Cas to give him a kiss. 

He kisses him so deeply that it results in Cas laying on his back and Dean straddled across his hips. He can feel Cas adjust underneath him and groan when Dean moves his hips rhythmically across his erection. Dean shivers when he feels Cas’s hands finding their way under his layers of shirts and up his bare back. His fingers dig into his shoulders and massage the muscle there. 

He can’t quite touch Cas they way he wants to while he hovers over him, so he lets himself fall to one side and props himself up on. Cas turns toward him slightly, just enough that he doesn’t have to stretch to find Dean’s kiss, and Dean can fully explore his body. Dean adjusts his legs so one fits in between Cas’s, interlocking them, with one of Cas’s thrown haphazardly over Dean’s hip. Dean knows that eventually his leg that is pressed into the mattress and Cas’s arm that he’s laying on might fall asleep, but it feels so  _ awesome _ . 

He hitches his knee up slightly, so it can press against Cas’s visible erection. Cas moans into his mouth and presses back against Dean, giving them both a pleasurable pressure. Dean runs a hand down Cas’s neck, over his chest and nipples. He skims his fingers down his stomach and the top of his thigh, just barely grazing Cas’s confined cock. His hand then slips under Cas’s thigh and he pulls it up so his leg is more properly around his hip. He uses his grip as leverage to give Cas a slow upwards thrust. 

Cas gasps against his mouth and returns the gesture by firmly grinding back. Their side-by-side position isn’t great for fast desperate thrusts, and what they’re doing right now is without rhythm, clumsy, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. 

Cas’s hand trails down his back in a zigzag motion and then finds its way to the top of Dean’s ass. It slips inside his jeans, overtop of his underwear. Dean gives a hard thrust, at the same time as Cas squeezes his ass. He pulls Dean in more every time Dean presses his hips into Cas’s. 

Dean removes his hand from Cas’s thigh and shoves it up his shirt, bunching it along the way and exposing his Cas’s stomach and chest. They both adjust again, so Cas is fully on his back, but Dean is still on his side. Their legs end up separate, but Dean still presses his thigh against Cas’s hardness. He ducks down to get his mouth on the newly exposed skin. He pulls the shirt up as much as he can so he can leave hot, wet kisses on as much as Cas’s body as possible. 

He traces one nipple with his tongue and runs his fingers over the other one, pinching and pulling it gently. While he lavishes attention on Cas’s chest, Cas runs his fingers through his hair and tugs. When he tugs particularly roughly, Dean makes sure to give him a nibble to his pecs. It makes Cas growl and Dean thrusts against the side of his leg. 

When Dean is satisfied with how marked up Cas’s chest is, he makes Cas sit up so he can finally take his shirt off. Dean takes a bit longer getting his top off, but once his torso is bare, Cas climbs on top of him and gives Dean’s chest the same treatment Dean gave his. He’s far rougher than Dean was, with more biting and harder suction.

Cas sits more on top of his thighs than on his dick, leaning forward to kiss Dean’s chest. Every time he moves, he brushes up against Dean’s cock. Dean ends up thrusting up a few times in an attempt to chase the pressure Cas’s body provides. 

Dean glances at Cas, who pauses his work and licks his lips. He props himself up on Dean’s chest, head in hand. His lips are red and wet and his eyes are half-lidded. “What convinced you to try breaking the curse?”

Dean blinks a couple times, letting his sluggish brain comprehend the words. “Oh, you mean besides you dying?” Cas pinches his nipples, causing him to yelp and blush. Cas smirks at Dean, who pouts back. 

He shuffles slightly and digs into his pocket. He notices that his jean’s are quite a bit looser, because they've become unbuttoned. He sure as hell doesn’t remember when that happened. 

He pulls out the paper that he found in Cas’s duffle bag. He had been so  caught up in worrying while Cas was sick. that he’d never finished reading it. It wasn’t until Sam had said that Cas was in love him with that Dean had had to convince himself it was true. Only as he read through what Cas had written about each song, did he realize that Cas  really was in love with him ? Cas’s thoughts on the songs slowly changed from how they related to humanity in general, to how much he cared for Dean. It was awkward to read about how  _ beautiful  _ Cas thought he was, but at the same time, it had given Dean a sense of fulfillment that he hadn’t been aware he could have. 

Cas takes the paper from him and sits up. He gives it a once over and blushes from his ears to his chest. He waves it slightly. “This convinced you? And not Sam yelling it at us in the library?” 

Dean snorts. “Dude, don’t talk about Sam while we’re in bed.”

Cas leans over and places the paper on the nightstand. When he balances back on Dean’s lap, he shuffles forward slightly, so their erections make contact. It makes Dean jump. 

“Don’t call me ‘dude’ while we’re in bed,” Castiel says and rolls his hips. 

“Okay. Does ‘Baby’ work for you?” Dean places his hands on Castiel’s hips and helps him along to create a steady grinding pace.

Cas massages the meat of Dean’s chest and groans. “Not a baby,” he says and scrapes his nails down Dean’s chest. 

Dean flips them over and gets his fingers under the hem of Castiel’s pants. He’s surprised that there's underwear he needs to pull down along with the sweats. Cas’s cock is red, with the head pointed up toward Cas’s face. It’s longer than Dean’s, with a little less girth than his. The head is shiny with precum and Dean circles it with his finger. Cas throws his head back into the pillows and groans. 

“What about–” Dean grabs Cas cock loosely, “Castiel?” It’s here that Dean learns what Cas’s moan sounds like. Dean grips the cock in his hand tighter, and starting from the base, gives one long slow pull. 

“Dean!” Cas whimpers. Dean becomes mesmerized by the sound of Cas’s aroused breathing and the way his muscles seem to convulse when Dean slowly runs his hand up and down his shaft.

Cas reaches out for Dean, mouth slightly open. Dean surges forwards and takes his mouth like an offering. Their mouths are hot and wet. Dean pulls on Cas’s cock again, this time twisting his hand at the head. The way Cas cries out against his mouth is so gratifying he does it again and again.

“Ah! Dean—Dean wait!” Cas tries shoving his hand away, but Dean gets one last tug in before he fully stops. Cas starts pulling off Dean’s jeans, but Dean’s going to need to move off of Cas to  remove them completely . He does it quickly and resumes his place between Cas’s thighs. 

Now that his cock is free, too, he gives it a couple quick tugs before he lays fully on top of Cas. He scoots down slightly, so he can press better, deeper kisses against Cas’s neck and clavicle. He can feel Cas’s hard cock when Cas ruts it up against his stomach. He thrusts his own alongside Cas’s, every once in a while thrusting it behind Cas’s balls and making him shake. 

“Dean, let me touch you,” Cas commands and tugs on his hair. Dean quickly sits up on his knees. Cas sits up too and immediately reaches out and rubs his palm against Dean’s dick, rolling it slightly against Dean’s stomach. He traces it with his fingers, catching the slickness leaking from the top. He spreads his fingers and watches the way it forms a clear web between them. Dean can’t help but find it strangely sexy. 

Cas finally grabs Dean in his hand. He twists his wrist as he strokes up and down Dean’s wet shaft. Dean grunts and thrusts forward into his fist. He watches as Cas works his cock and also reaches down to grab his own. Dean runs his hand through Cas’s sweaty hair as he watches Cas’s hands work them both at the same pace. 

Cas stops suddenly, like he’s had an idea. The whine on Dean’s lips turns into a groan when Cas lays back and opens his legs, exposing his hole. It makes Dean’s mouth dry. He opens Cas’s legs wider, holding them up by the back of the knee. Cas takes his place and pulls his legs back and open, stretching out the skin around his hole. Dean strokes his fingers from the tip of Cas’s cock, down the shaft, past his balls, and right to Cas’s hole. He circles it and it flutters at Dean’s touch. 

He looks back up at Cas, who is red and blotchy, with a hard cock that leaks steadily over his stomach. Maybe they should have gone slower, taken more time. There are still places where Dean wants to kiss and touch, just like there are places where he wants Cas to kiss and touch him. But when he looks at Cas with that aroused, angelic face, how can he slow the pace now?

He hastily grabs the lube and a condom from the bottom drawer of his nightstand. Cas watches him. Dean feels a little self-conscious, like he should be acting way more sexy and confident than he really is. Still, he knows Cas isn’t judging him for any reason. 

The lube is cold, so he works it in his fingers until it’s warm. Dean rubs his wet fingers against Cas’s hole, loosening the muscles around it. He slips a finger in slowly and carefully, all while rubbing Cas’s thigh. Cas doesn’t seem to taken aback with a finger up his ass, but he does have a small smile on his face as he stares half-lidded up at the ceiling. Dean wants to take his time and really trying to make Cas’s a writhing mess, but he’s sure they both already feel that this moment was too long in the making. 

Once the first digit can go in and out without resistance, Dean adds another. This time Cas’s body twitches and Cas moves his hips so Dean’s fingers go further inside than Dean had originally planned. Dean twists them around and crooks them. Cas grunts and twists his hands in the blanket beneath them. “Again,” Cas commands and Dean repeats the motion. 

Dean rubs across the spot a few more times before he decides to go ahead and add another digit, plus some more lube. He stretches all three fingers out and watches the way Cas’s hole has become malleable to his touch. He thrusts them in and out at different speeds to see what Cas enjoys. 

Cas moans the loudest at a fast speed that doesn’t always hit that sensitive spot inside him. The slower dragging thrusts make his cock leak the most. When Dean goes as deep as possible and moves the fingers just a bit, Cas arches his back and presses back. They’re all equally good reactions in Dean’s opinion. 

He pulls his fingers out of Cas and chuckles when Cas glares at him. Dean carefully slides the condom on. He takes one of Castiel’s legs and places it high on his hip. The other he takes and holds vertical to his body, so it doesn’t get in the way of his thrusting “You good?” he asks in a rough voice. 

Cas frowns at him and shakes his head. “I changed my mind,” he says and sits up. He adjusts his legs and swiftly knocks Dean backward till he’s laying flat with his head at the wrong end of the bed. It leaves him confused and breathless. Castiel then climbs up his body and hovers over him on his knees. He raises an eyebrow at Dean, like he’s asking if this is okay. Dean can only gulp and nod, because how could this not be okay? “Help me,” Cas tells Dean as he steadies himself by placing his hands on Dean’s chest.

Dean grabs his cock and holds it up as Cas adjusts until the head slips inside him. Dean swears he sees stars, and as Cas slowly descends down his dick, the stars become brighter. They both let out a long heavy moan. “Dean, you feel good,” Cas informs him. He leans forwards and holds himself above Dean to give him a rough kiss. He slides his body against Dean’s, pulling himself up and down Dean’s cock while still pressing close to his body. 

Dean kisses him fiercely, dragging his tongue across Cas’s. He places his hands on Cas’s ass and kneads and pulls his cheeks apart. He wishes there was a way he could see behind him so he could see what it looks like to have his cock disappearing into Cas. 

“You feel good too, Cas,” he says before he wraps his arms around Cas’s torso. He plants his feet firmly on the bed, which causes Cas to fall even more forward, and then he thrusts his cock up into his Cas’s hole. The sound of their groans and skin slapping together fill the room. Dean keeps up the brutal pace a little longer while Cas pants and moans into his neck, making the area hot and moist. 

Cas pushes his ass back during a thrust and it causes Dean’s feet to slip,  his legs stretching out again? his legs falling flat again.  Cas pushes himself up and onto the balls of his feet, so he’s squatting over Dean with his arms behind him up. His thigh muscles clench from keeping him up and Dean runs his hands down them. It looks strenuous, but that doesn’t stop Cas from bouncing himself on Dean’s cock. 

He’s too far away for Dean’s liking, so Dean rubs his hand wherever he can, up his legs and over his cock. He gets a loose hold on it, and tries his best to give it as much attention as he can. He pumps it sloppily over and over while Cas’s sounds get louder too. Dean knows he’s going to finish soon; they fooled around too much before this for him to last as long as he wants. 

Cas’s fast-paced bouncing gets more sloppy and the head of his cock is dribbling down Dean’s hand. His eyes are clenched shut. Soon he’s swirling his hips on Dean’s cock and letting Dean have a go at his dick. 

“Castiel,” he says desperately when he feels a pulse in his cock as he comes into the condom and into Cas. 

Cas follows after, making cum leak from in between Dean’s fingers, with Dean’s name on his lips. They let a moment pass where they stay connected and come down from their organismic high. 

Afterwards, when they are all cleaned up and their bodies are beginning to ache, they finally rest. Cas is on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow and staring at Dean, who’s on his side, propping his head up in his hand and stroking Cas’s back. 

Every once in a while, one of them will lean forward and share a chaste kiss. Dean thinks about initiating another round—maybe this time,  Cas can have him the way he had Cas . Cas could do him from behind him, while Dean moans into a pillow and jacks off. It’s a sexy scenario, but Dean knows they’ll have time.

“I love you,” Castiel tells him. Dean is taken aback, but he lets him continue. “I know you may not be ready to say it, but I want–”

“I love you, too,” Dean responds. He doesn’t even have to convince himself to say it. He wants to. 

Castiel crawls closer to him and throws an arm around his waist. He buries his face in Dean’s neck and shakes. He’s crying, Dean realizes, and it almost makes him cry too. 

After everything, after every death, and near-death experience, they get to have this. How many people have they lost to get here? How many time have they hurt each other? The universe has taken so much from them that this seems implausible.  Yet, they've found each other.

Dean has a dorky, overgrown brother who teamed up with his kinda-son to get him and his best friend to realize how much they mean to each other. And it worked. Not in a way that any of them would have wanted, but it did. He wishes he could say that if Cas hadn’t gotten sick, one day Dean would have realized that he was in love with him, but he’s not sure. 

He is sure that Sam wants the best for him, and that Jack is good despite the fact that his biological father is literally Satan. He’s also sure that Cas loves him. Looking back, he wishes he had been more observant. Only now is he recalling every joke made by every demon, every angel, and even Sam. Only now is he thinking about the way Cas had told him he loved him when he was poisoned and dying. Maybe it was his mental block telling him that he wasn’t worth that kind of love that stopped him from seeing something that was there all along. 

And now that he stares at the sleeping form of a very naked Cas, he realizes that he is worth it. He’s saved the world and deserves to be happy. They both do. 

There are so many things he wants to do, and he can’t help feeling like they need to do them now, before something else hits the fan. But he doesn’t have to, not really. Not anymore. For once in his life, the world doesn’t get to dictate what the Winchester family has to do. 

Tomorrow, he and Jack are going to make pancakes for breakfast. Sam’s going to try to make a nasty protein shake. Cas will come in late and grumpy. Then Dean will hold his hand as they eat. They get to have this, because they've lost too much not to have a happy ending. 

That being said, he leans over and kisses the creases in Cas’s forehead. Cas gives a sleepy smile and finds his hand. They hold onto each other all night, just because they can.  

 


End file.
